From Russia With Leov
by BitShifter
Summary: Steed learns how to die. Emma meets her match.
1. A Chance Meeting

**"From Russia With Leov"**

An Avengers Fanfiction

_The fourteenth in a series of adventures designed to bridge the year and a half between broadcast episode 3.26, "Lobster Quadrille" (Cathy Gale, March 1964), and episode 4.01, "The Town Of No Return" (Emma Peel, September 1965)_

**Disclaimer:** Some copyrighted characters have been borrowed

_A quick recap of the saga so far. Hotshot pilot Squadron Leader Peter Peel is an undercover operative for the British Ministry of Defence when an experimental Russian prototype plane he is stealing goes down in the Amazon. In actuality, Peel is deep-cover KGB agent Pyotr Pehlovich, brought up in England from an early age, and instructed to marry Emma Knight, daughter of the wealthy industrialist. His wife knows nothing of his secret life as an agent for either government; she thinks he is merely a test pilot for the RAF. When Pehlovich learns that the higher-ups in the Ministry have discovered that he is a double agent, he stages the crash in the Amazon to fake his own death. He then assumes the identity of 'The Ladja' ('The Rook') and begins operating directly for the KGB._

_After a brief exile in Siberia, The Ladja returns to England. While investigating a murder plot involving a tontine, Steed and Emma discover that Peter Peel's commanding officer, Group Captain Willcombe-Smythe, is a double agent both working for and embezzling from the KGB. He is assassinated by The Ladja, but with his dying breath, he tries to identify his killer with the words "Peel is a traitor." Steed mistakenly assumes the phrase is a spiteful act to cast suspicion on Emma._

**May 1965**

_Steed learns how to die. Emma meets her match._

The streetlights of London flashed past as a lone rider guided a motorcycle through the heart of Chelsea. The bike was a 1965 Triumph Bonneville, 650 cubic centimeters fed by twin carburetors, with the trademark chrome basketweave symbol emblazoned on the body. The rider's knees were pressed into the vinyl pads to each side of the blue metallic fuel tank, allowing the machine to lean into the curves with breathtaking precision. The trip was a familiar nightly ritual, but it was about to be interrupted.

A group of unruly men had completely blocked off an alleyway that the rider had been navigating like a maze. They must have spilled out of a nearby bar called _Petrushka_. The motorcyclist was forced to stop to avoid a collision; the visor on the helmet flipped up to reveal a pert face framed by auburn hair.

"Out of the way, please," Emma Peel commanded tersely.

The leader of the men grinned lasciviously. "That's a bonny Bonnie," he remarked. The other two men fanned out, one to each side of the motorcycle. As they started to move closer, Emma could detect the faint odor of vodka. The younger one puckered his lips. "Give us a kiss, love," he leered.

He hooked an arm around her small waist and pulled her towards him. Emma didn't resist as he dragged her off the bike, waiting until she was completely clear of the machine so it wouldn't interfere with her moves.

The instant her feet hit the pavement, she twisted and fired an elbow into his ribs. The man cried out in pain and released his grip; his partner tried to come to his aid, but was turned back when Emma removed her helmet and flung it into his face, smacking him painfully on the nose. They each shot a glance at their leader for a moment, confused.

Emma could tell by their reflexes and attack plan that they were either drunk or the most inept muggers in London. The two men attempted a flanking maneuver, one on each side hoping to grab an arm and take her prisoner.

She dropped to one knee and vigorously thrust both her fists straight outwards, catching each one in the pit of the stomach. They doubled over in unison, and she quickly rose and used both hands to chop the backs of their necks. As they fell to the ground, the leader closed to striking distance. _That works both ways,_ Emma thought, flashing her foot high to catch him on the side of the head. He staggered back to regroup while the other two men struggled to rise.

From the corner of her eye, Emma saw a young woman watching with interest in the neon glow from the bar. Like Emma, she too was dressed head-to-toe in leather; but her outfit was more risque, with trousers that laced loosely up the sides to reveal a swath of pale skin on each leg from waist to boot-top, and a tight leather bodice that was barely able to contain her buxom chest. Where the lithe body of Emma would have been described by an onlooker as "athletic", this woman's would have been described as "voluptuous." Her hair was a shade of auburn that exactly matched Emma's, although it was braided into a long ponytail that hung over one shoulder.

Emma cursed silently to herself as the two men she had first subdued regained their feet and headed for her. If only she had aimed lower, they might still be incapacitated on the ground. She had been pulling her punches to avoid hurting them too much—they had appeared to be drunks from the bar, and should have yielded to her minimal force.

Once again, the two attackers approached her with such symmetry that she realized she could fell two birds with one stone. Emma launched into a spectacular leaping aerial split, planting a foot into each of the men's chests. They slammed backwards onto the pavement, scuffed and bruised; this time they wouldn't be so quick to recover. She was off-balance for a moment after the jump, and during this time the leader charged up behind her and put her in a hammerlock, with one arm across her shoulder blades and another twisting her wrist behind her back.

Emma sighed in annoyance as he attempted to press her face-first into the brick wall. She had just bent her head downward to avoid nosing into the masonry when a leather boot with a spike stiletto heel flew upwards between her legs and stopped only a millimeter short of her crotch. The woman at the bar must have joined in the fray. A loud groan sounded from behind her, and she knew that the man holding her captive had taken the brunt of the kick in the form of the woman's shin impacting his groin.

The man released Emma's arms and fell to the ground. He tried to crawl away, but the other woman straddled him to trap his neck between her leather-clad thighs. She squeezed her legs together in a strangulating grip. The man lunged in an attempt to throw her off balance, but she bent her knees slightly to lower her center of gravity and continued to apply pressure.

Emma dusted herself off and noticed that the other two men, on seeing their leader defeated, had lost their will to fight. She growled at them menacingly and they took off down the alley. Emma turned her attention to her newly-arrived comrade-in-arms, observing that she had caused the captive leader's face to turn red, soon to be blue.

"Er—I think he's had enough," Emma said wryly. Something about this woman immediately rubbed her the wrong way. This wasn't self-defense; she was needlessly inflicting pain on a disabled opponent. Was she a sadist? "Really, they weren't any trouble for me."

"Why should you have all the fun?" the woman said with a Russian accent. She looked like a cat toying with a mouse as the man clawed desperately at her thighs. But sensing Emma's disapproval, she begrudgingly released the leader, who scrambled away, still nursing his privates.

Emma studied the strange woman who had come to her aid. There was something decidedly decadent about the leather outfit she wore. Her face was flushed and excited, and two sharp points were visible on the slick surface of her bodice, as if she had found the struggle arousing. The woman stepped forward to introduce herself.

"I am Mistress Ursula Leov," she stated formally.

Perhaps it was the Russian accent that set off Emma's instincts. Instead of turning immediately to leave, she thought up a quick lie.

"My name is Linda Herrington," Emma replied. "Thanks for the help, Ursula."

"Call me Mistress Leov," the woman offered genially. She appraised Emma's leather outfit with a smile. "Your fashion sense appeals to me greatly, Linda," she continued, "although I find it not quite revealing enough."

Emma inclined her head in acknowledgement. "I wear these because they're protective and easy to maneuver in, not to entice men sexually."

"But an outfit can be so much more effective if we play upon a man's lower instincts," Leov remarked. She loosened the strings and adjusted her bodice, briefly exposing her generous bosom. Emma couldn't help staring for a moment at the brazen display. Mistress Leov noticed Emma's gaze. "Perhaps even you have some lower instincts, eh?

Emma's cheeks burned red. "I'll be going now." In her hurry to look away from the massive expanse of chest, Emma had almost missed it. A small, black charm was nestled in the Russian woman's cleavage.

Leov smiled again. "You must stay and let me buy you a drink," she crooned delicately.

Emma leaned in closer to examine the necklace. It was a chess piece, a rook carved out of jet-black onyx. Emma subtly arched an eyebrow. The Black Rook was the symbol of her arch-nemesis _The Ladja_, the Russian KGB operative who had masqueraded for years in England as a double agent. She had first encountered him while working with Steed, and had taken an instant dislike to the man and his methods, even though she had never actually seen his face nor heard him speak. A sudden flash of inspiration hit her.

"I should be the one buying you a drink," Emma acquiesced. "For helping me out, that is."

Even though Emma had driven past the bar many times, she had never pondered the significance of the name _Petrushka_; she thought it was just meant to sound elegant. But if the bar was truly Russian, what better place for The Ladja to hire labor for his operations in London? Trying to trace the mastermind through his henchmen could have been time-consuming, but fortune may have just smiled on her—she believed that Leov might be The Ladja's recruiter.

The men inside the bar give a wide berth to the two dangerous-looking women dressed in leather. Emma recognized the sound of patrons speaking in Russian; if only she had the ability to understand it, like Steed and Rita. Leov led her to the counter and ordered two vodkas. As if she sensed the object of Emma's interest, she absently fondled the charm between her breasts.

"That's a beautiful necklace," Emma ventured.

"You like it?" Leov smiled. "This was a present from a friend—the only man that I consider my superior. He's a master chess player."

Emma had never really played chess much, until she had met Peter. He had been an excellent chess player.

"You consider yourself superior to all men?"

"Of course," Mistress Leov boasted. "Women are naturally superior, physically and mentally. Look how easily we defeated those muggers in the alley. They didn't even have the sense to keep their legs together to protect their own _yaitsa_." She took a massive gulp of vodka. "Don't tell me you are one of those women who serves at the beck and call of a man?"

Emma sensed an opening and shook her head. "Men," she snorted. "Bloody trouble, the whole lot of them."

An amused smirk crossed Leov's features. "I know how you feel. Aren't you tired of them swooping in, making sexual advances towards you, ogling your," she swallowed imperceptibly, "fine, athletic body?" She moved closer so that her ample hip rubbed against Emma's.

Emma shifted uncomfortably, but pressed forward with her plan. "But if we don't act subservient to men, how can we make a living?" she asked in resignation. "Unless the only man you consider your superior, the one who gave you the necklace, is also your employer?"

"He is. But I control him in ways that you would find strange, Linda." Leov's hand lightly brushed Emma's. "I sense that you have an animosity towards the opposite sex."

_Only one man,_ Emma thought. _The Ladja, your master._

"I hope you won't count that against me," Emma declared innocently. "I'm afraid I've had rather a bad time with men," she added, trying to sound bitter.

"You seem to do well enough for yourself. That's a very nice motorbike you're on."

"It's all I have in the world," Emma said, faking a wistful sigh. "I stole it from the last man who tried to use me."

Leov nodded seriously. "If you're looking for money, I think I have something that might be appropriate."

_Yes!_ Emma thought. "If it suits me," she replied casually.

Leov ordered another vodka. "I am engaged in certain activities around the globe—Paris, Tel Aviv, Moscow—and of course, here in London. And you sound like you have the necessary detachment towards men. Have you ever been married?"

"I'm a widow."

The Mistress smiled. "Stop by my caviar distribution warehouse tomorrow, Mrs. Herrington. Here's the address—it's in London-Over-The-Border." She handed Emma a card with a logo of a small yellow bird and the words CANARY ROE, LTD.

The two women finished their drinks and exited the bar. Emma retrieved her helmet, carefully avoiding any physical contact with Mistress Leov while she mounted the Bonneville. The motorcycle appeared unharmed, and she drove off.

As the twin exhausts of the Triumph roared away into the distance, the lead attacker staggered out of the alley and stood before the Mistress.

"You didn't have to be so rough," he said, still walking gingerly from her attack.

"Shut up," she countered flatly in Russian. "You're lucky Mrs. Peel was so compassionate, or I would have given you much worse."

-oOo-

John Steed strolled through the corridors of Whitehall, idly tapping the door handles with the tip of his umbrella. It was unusual to be summoned to the Ministry after tea-time; even more unusual for the request to come directly from Charles, the Head of Operations. Still, he didn't want to seem too submissive to the organization that funded his undercover adventures. That's why he chose to loiter until two minutes past the appointment time, just to assert his independence.

At the end of the hall, Steed pushed through the door marked OPERATIONS to see a short woman standing at a file cabinet. She had a bright face, brilliant smile, blonde ponytail, and perfectly-formed calves accentuated by high heels.

"Good evening, Miss Pettipound," Steed greeted her cheerily.

"Steed!" she beamed as she shut the drawer and took his hat. "I never get to see you anymore."

He feigned regret. "I've been out in the field."

She moved close enough that her body touched his and straightened his carnation.

"If only I could be in that field with you," she cooed longingly. "The two of us, alone at the riverside, with a picnic hamper." She ran her hands across his chest. "We could go punting afterwards..."

Steed smiled. "I like your idea of 'the field' much better than the one I'm in. Did you have any particular place in mind?"

A strident buzz came from the intercom. The voice of the Head of Operations scratched out of the speaker. "Dispense with any pleasantries and send Steed in as soon as he arrives," he commanded.

Miss Pettipound wrinkled her mouth. "His master's voice," she said. "He must have heard the door."

Steed stepped into the inner office. Charles was leaning back in a desk chair, his large bulk causing it to creak with strain. He was retrieving several sheets from a folder open on his lap; he slid these across the desk to Steed.

"A woman has fallen in love with you," he began.

Steed grinned as he sat down. "A rare occurrence, perhaps, but hardly cause for a national security crisis."

"Her name's Paulina Porzhisni, supposedly a cipher clerk from East Germany. She's managed to escape to England with a Zagadka decoder. Her plan is to use it to buy asylum and protection from the British government. But she'll only hand the device over to you."

"Remarkable!" Steed declared. "How did she fall in love with me?"

"Apparently she saw your picture while encoding the reports about the way you foiled the KGB in Tokyo, Paris, and Switzerland last year. She also knows that you helped Marina Irinova defect at the Summer Olympics. Comrade Porzhisni is convinced you're a man she can trust," Charles explained. He then added disparagingly, "Shows what she knows."

"Does she really exist?"

"We've had intelligence from Moscow that such a woman worked in the East Berlin cipher office, although it could have been manufactured."

"Do we have a picture of this woman?"

Charles shook his head. "They're probably waiting to see if we'll take the bait. Then they'll rustle up some Russian agent to pretend to be Paulina."

"Tell them I'm interested."

Charles snorted. "Do you think I called you in here to give you a choice in the matter?" he said. "I've already responded. If there's any chance of laying our hands on a Zagadka, you're expendable."

"Nice to know my true value," Steed countered. "Less than an electro-mechanical device."

"A _Top Secret_ electro-mechanical device," Charles corrected.

"That makes it better," Steed said wryly. "Thanks for sending me into a trap."

Charles grinned. "Just make sure that if you're captured, you manage to kill yourself before they can torture you." He lit his pipe. "There's a good chap."

-oOo-

The darkened warehouse smelled strongly of fish. A man dressed in overalls stood in a dimly-illuminated spot in the center of the empty space. In one hand he clutched a small leather case, about the size of a typewriter. The workman was startled by a disembodied male voice that suddenly echoed around the metal vats.

The voice boomed, "You asked to meet with me?"

"Yes," the workman said as he turned completely around, trying to discern the source. "You are in charge?" His manner was bold in spite of the intimidating surroundings.

"You contacted the KGB, behind my back," the voice accused.

"Yes," the workman said again. "I was going through the equipment storeroom. I found this." He held up the case.

"Set it down," the voice ordered. The workman did as he was told, taking a few steps back toward the safety of the darkness.

"Your loyalty to the _Komitet_ is admirable," the disembodied voice replied, "but in this case, it will prove your undoing. My current operation is freelance, not under the purview of the Motherland."

"I could not have known," the workman protested. There was no answer from the mystery voice; instead, there was a sinister clicking on the cement floor.

Walking into the dim light, an auburn-haired woman clad entirely in leather was uncoiling a whip. Her stiletto heels sounded like a metronome as she neared the workman.

The man grabbed the case and turned to flee just as a loud crack split the air. He jerked back in reflex, dropping the case. A thin strand of blood trickled across the back of his hand.

Rather than wait to be whipped senseless, the workman did the only thing he could think of: he charged at the woman, hoping his superior size would allow him to defeat her. Even as he approached her, his movements started to slow. He staggered forward and collapsed at her feet.

The sharpened heel of her leather boot hovered precariously above one of his hands. The woman twitched her foot in anticipation, and a sadistic smile traced its way across her lips.

A man in a bowler hat walked quietly up behind her, slipping one hand around her waist while lightly caressing her breasts with the other. The woman tossed her head so that the auburn braid fell across her other shoulder, permitting him to press his lips to the pale flesh at her throat. As he moved his hand down the warm leather of her abdomen, he spoke soothingly.

"Don't kill him."

Mistress Leov turned her head to look into the vacuous, ice-blue eyes. "Why not?" she asked, disappointment creeping into her voice.

"I have need of him later."

"You never let me have any fun, Comrade Peel," she said teasingly, her voice catching slightly from his erotic attentions.

"Pehlovich," he reminded her. "Besides, that could have been dangerous for you. The man is twice your size."

"The paralysis drug in my whip does not work as quickly as I would like," she observed. "But the fast-acting poison on my spike heels kills almost instantly. If you had given me the word, my _Ladja_, he would have been dead before he hit the floor."

"You're as lethal as you are beautiful," Pehlovich mused between kisses. Leov simply threw her head back in enjoyment.

"What will you do with him?" she asked.

"He'll soon learn where his loyalties should lie," The Ladja answered. "In the meantime, we'll keep him on ice until the plan reaches completion. If there's one thing a caviar-packing plant has, it's plenty of refrigeration."

Mistress Leov tugged the strings on her bodice so that it fell open, allowing her lover easier access. "As you wish, Pyotr."

"I like your hair color," he murmured.

"You made me dye it like this," she reminded him. "I was uncertain at first, but it's starting to grow on me."

"I once had a wife with hair that color," Pehlovich confessed. "But she would never do the things to me that you do."

Leov turned her head so that The Ladja could not see her smile. "I've found a suitable woman to use as a sacrificial lamb, just as you instructed," she said innocently.

"Yes," Pehlovich agreed resolutely. "Part of my plan for the disgrace and destruction of John Steed. Poor, desperate, escaped cipher clerk attempts to buy her safety with top secret decoder machine; Steed seduces her, then ruthlessly murders her and takes the machine," he explained. "Complete dishonor for Steed, and most certainly drummed out of the service. Especially when we submit proof to the Ministry—anonymously, of course—that they were lovers."

"This woman will be believable as his lover," Leov said with a smirk. "I think you will be surprised."

"I like surprises," The Ladja grinned as he stared at the prone body of the workman on the floor of the warehouse. "As long as it ends with John Steed dangling at the end of a rope."

-oOo-


	2. Job Interview

**Chapter 2**

The sound of industrial machinery made a mind-numbing roar, eclipsing the noise of the Triumph as Emma Peel arrived at the address in London-Over-The-Border. Canary Roe was no better or worse than the rest of the marginally-maintained factories along the road that paralleled the Thames. The parking lot was a small patch of macadam with weeds growing through the cracks; she avoided the obvious entryway and instead shut off her motor and wheeled the bike silently towards a side entrance, hoping to sneak in unnoticed for a reconnoiter.

Emma was once again dressed in her full-body leathers. She would rather have changed into leather slacks and a sweater, or even a knit jumpsuit; but she had to preserve the image that she was nearly penniless and would do anything for cash. So her only choice was the same outfit that Leov had seen her wearing yesterday at the _Petrushka._

The side door was suspiciously unlocked; but perhaps some workers had left it that way to sneak out for a smoke, away from the flammable chemicals. Emma stepped inside to find an enormous space with a dirty cement floor lit by harsh fluorescent light. The smell of fish was overpowering and unpleasant.

Almost too late she saw the cargo nets suspended from the steel crossbeams overhead. At the same instant that one was falling from above, another was hurtling towards her, tossed by one of several people who had emerged from behind crates that dotted the floor. Emma's vision darted from side to side in the fraction of a second before the nets arrived, quickly discerning the only maneuver that would allow her to avoid capture.

Her movement was a ballet as she pranced and spun to dodge even more nets that were being hurled in her direction. The only safe route led down a narrow strip to the center of the room, where another menace awaited. A handful of men in overalls stood in a loose semicircle, brandishing a variety of sharp-pronged implements. With a running leap, Emma cartwheeled towards the workers, grabbing the edge of one of the nets that had landed nearby. She cast it directly back at them, entangling their weapons in true gladiator fashion.

Emma sprinted past the confused attackers towards a wheeled door on the opposite side, open just wide enough for her to slip through. On the other side was an enclosed corridor where a third ambush had been set.

Two men and two women wearing martial arts _gis_ formed a single-file line down the center of the hallway. Mistress Leov stood at the far end, shouting clipped instructions in Russian.

There was no path around the fighters; Emma's only option was to go through them. The first man advanced with his hands held high in a defensive stance. She faked a kick at his groin; when he lowered his arms to block, she easily closed in and chopped at his neck with the sharp edge of her hand. He was stunned, but still staggered forward, intent on a stranglehold. Emma grabbed his wrist and gave him a quick judo toss to the floor.

The next man had carefully watched her combat strategy against the first, so he approached with his defensive posture low, guarding his beltline. His fists flew at her in quick alternation, smacking painfully into her kidneys. Emma aimed a strike at the bridge of his nose; when he reflexively put his hands up as a shield, she drove a lightning jab into his solar plexus. He fell to his knees with a gasp, struggling for breath, and she knocked him aside with a boot to the side of his head.

The two women remained; it was obvious Mistress Leov considered them the more dangerous of the species. A short-haired blond launched herself directly at Emma with a high roundhouse kick. Emma dived into a roll, allowing the woman's thigh to pass over her head. She sprang up behind her attacker and slammed her foot into the woman's backside, sending her sprawling headfirst onto the floor.

The final remaining woman grabbed Emma from behind and locked her arms across Emma's chest and squeezed. Emma quickly fired a mule-kick backwards into the woman's shin; it was enough to make her attacker groan and release the hold. Emma spun around and put the woman in a headlock, then gave her a simple punch to the stomach to drive the air out of her. Emma released the hold, allowing the woman to slump to the floor.

Mistress Leov smirked as she clicked the button on the stopwatch that she held. "Twenty-seven seconds," she announced. "Not bad."

Emma feigned indignation. "Just what kind of job am I interviewing for?"

"The interview was yesterday," Leov said smugly. "Today, I was just making sure that the abilities you exhibited weren't a fluke."

The two men had recovered from Emma's attack and walked reluctantly over to the Mistress, heads hung in shame. Leov looked at them with contempt.

"You men," she spat. "To be so easily fooled." Her hand shot out like a striking cobra, viciously punching once high and once low. Emma watched wide-eyed as one of the men doubled over with a whimper, then sank to one knee. Leov turned to Emma.

"You seem skilled and resourceful, Mrs. Herrington. And you don't scare easily. I think you're someone who won't run when the going gets tough."

"Please," Emma said measuredly. "Call me Linda."

"I'm convinced you're the perfect woman for a special project I've been commissioned to perform, Linda." Leov patted the two female attackers on the backside, dismissing them. "If all goes as planned, there will be no need for physical action." The Mistress gave a wicked grin, then added, "But things never go as planned, do they?"

Leov motioned for Emma to follow her into a spartan office at the end of the corridor. "The pay will be generous," she continued.

"I'm interested," Emma said, trying not to sound too interested.

The Mistress pulled a folder from a drawer and laid it on the desk surface. "Could you pretend to be in love with a man?" she asked. "Only temporarily, of course. I know how you feel about men."

"Depends on the man," Emma offered casually.

Leov nodded as if the answer satisfied her. She slid a photograph over to Emma.

"This is your objective. He's infuriatingly smug. A ladies' man. You should enjoy the opportunity to debase someone who uses women so."

Emma let her mouth curl into a smile. Her suspicions about Mistress Leov had been correct. This was the mother lode—there was no doubt now that her superior was The Ladja. She pretended to study the photograph.

"When I'm finished with him," Emma boasted, "he'll be afraid to crawl in bed with another woman ever again."

The Mistress picked up the picture and placed it back in the folder. "Your cover name will be Paulina," she announced. "Get used to it. There's a suite of rooms upstairs. You will be living here, at Canary Roe, until the operation is complete."

-oOo-

Steed opened an envelope that contained a sealed brown folder. Stenciled across the front were the words 'TOP SECRET - EYES ONLY'.

The sound of the courier's auto faded in the distance as Steed sat down at the small writing desk near the kitchen. He broke the seal on the folder and started browsing through the stack of photographs inside.

The pictures were clearly of the Russian Zagadka decoding machine. It was the size of a typewriter, built within a small leather case. The photographer had graciously provided zoom shots of the cipher keys, as well as the code wheels in the interior, just in case there would be any doubt.

Steed smiled. "Well, let's see this KGB agent who's been selected to play our poor, smitten cipher clerk." He shuffled through the stack of photos until he came to a full-color picture of a woman.

He felt a cold chill, like an icy hand gripping at his heart. The winsome smile and pert auburn curl insinuated themselves onto his retina, even after he shut his eyes.

Suddenly, the dying words of Group Captain Willcombe-Smythe echoed in his ears: _Peel... is... a traitor._

Mrs. Peel, working for the enemy?

No; it was impossible. He had personally witnessed her attacking KGB agents on several occasions; he even had to stop her from gunning down The Ladja in the heat of battle in Paris.

Still... there was that incident at the airfield near Prague, where The Ladja had a clear and easy shot at Mrs. Peel, but instead had concentrated his fire on the cockpit where Steed was. A fellow agent might behave that way to protect a mole.

Steed shook his head. This was nonsense; he trusted Mrs. Peel. She must have a good reason for getting involved with the KGB. He instinctively picked up the phone and dialed her number. There was no answer.

Could she really have fooled him?

The phone rang almost immediately when he set it back on its cradle. Steed picked it up hopefully. It was Charles, the Head of Operations.

"I told our courier to deliver the packet on the Zagadka directly to you the instant our contact made it available," he said. "Has it arrived yet?"

"Just a few minutes ago," Steed replied absently.

"Have they selected a KGB agent to play Paulina Porzhisni?"

"Yes."

"Is she attractive?"

"Decidedly so."

"Come down here and we'll see if you can pick her out of our files."

"I can stop by tomorrow morning," Steed responded glibly.

Charles was quiet at the other end. There were several seconds of uncomfortable silence.

Steed's voice was toneless. "They sent you the same packet, didn't they?"

Charles was emphatic. "I know you didn't have time to get Mrs. Peel in undercover. So perhaps you better explain to me why you failed to mention that she is somehow a KGB agent assigned to play Paulina."

"I'm unflappable?" Steed ventured.

"Where Mrs. Peel is concerned, you're very flappable."

"It must be a set-up; a frame, to cast suspicion on her," Steed offered.

The Head of Operations sounded unconvinced. "What makes you think that?"

"They may have been planning this for some time. A few weeks ago, I obtained some uncorroborated intelligence that Mrs. Peel might be a traitor."

Charles snorted, "Well, it's corroborated now!"

"Not necessarily," Steed reasoned. "Maybe she's under some sort of duress. Perhaps they're holding a relative hostage."

"Do you know of anyone who's closer to her than you?" Charles fired back.

Steed remained firm. "I trust her. She's probably just showing some independent initiative, working an operation on her own."

"But you can't be sure of that," Charles argued. "She could have been setting you up ever since the Amazon."

Steed was exasperated. "Look, the KGB certainly must know that I've worked with Mrs. Peel in the past, and that there's no way I could be fooled into thinking she's this Paulina Porzhisni, or whoever."

"All part of the subtlety of their trap," Charles said smugly. "Knowing that it's Mrs. Peel, could you possibly resist now?"

"No," Steed admitted.

"Or perhaps it's just an administrative oversight on the part of the Russians, assigning her to this mission. What do you think about the Zagadka?"

"The pictures look authentic," Steed declared. "If only Mrs. Peel has access to the actual device, this could be a real coup for our side."

"If she lures you into a trap, and they torture you for all the information in your head, it could be a real coup for _their_ side."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take," Steed said levelly.

"It's not your risk to judge," the Head of Operations said acidly. "Report to the Ministry tomorrow morning at nine," he ordered. "I've set up an appointment for you with Suicide Training."

"That can't be a popular class."

"People are dying to take it," Charles said dryly.

"And as for the rest?" Steed prompted. "What about Mrs. Peel?"

"We'll get to the bottom of things. Let's wait and see if she shows up with the Zagadka. If she manages to convince you she's not KGB, you must bring her to us in chains—bound, gagged, subdued, and ready for interrogation," Charles pronounced.

"Knowing Mrs. Peel, that would be a most difficult feat to accomplish," Steed countered wryly. "And if it turns out that she is working for the KGB?

The Head of Operation's answer was emotionless.

"Then you must kill Emma Peel."

-oOo-


	3. Suicide Training

**Chapter 3**

Charles was seated across from his superior, on the other side of a mahogany expanse. Sir Gerald Tarrant examined the packet that lay open on his desk.

"A most unexpected development," Tarrant began. "Emma Peel working with the KGB." He carefully examined the photographs of the decoder as he eyed his Head of Operations. "Has Steed been able to contact her?"

Charles shook his head. "She seems to have gone missing."

"Remarkable." Tarrant slid the folder back across the desk.

"There's only one explanation," Charles declared. "Mrs. Peel must have become aware that The Ladja is actually her husband, and has decided to join forces with him."

Tarrant furrowed his brow. "According to Steed, she's always considered The Ladja to be her arch-nemesis. Does she really love her husband enough to switch allegiances that quickly? Particularly knowing all of the crimes that he is now complicit in?"

Charles shrugged. "She was married to him for several years, and is probably still in his thrall," he offered. "She might be more loyal to him than she is to England."

Tarrant leaned back and began the tedious process of lighting his pipe. "Is it possible that Peter Peel could have talked her into working for him without her knowing that he actually _is_ The Ladja?"

"A much more likely scenario," Charles agreed. "He's incredibly devious, that man."

"Unless there's a third party in this equation that we're not aware of yet," Tarrant continued. "A KGB recruiter of some sort who may have duped Mrs. Peel."

"Possibly," Charles conceded. "But Steed mentioned to me that he had some intelligence from several weeks ago that Mrs. Peel might be a traitor."

"Oh?" Tarrant took a single puff as he pondered this. "It may have been Willcombe-Smythe. Steed was present at his death earlier this month, when he discovered that the Group Captain was the double agent working with The Ladja. He must have been told then."

"Why didn't Steed report it to us?

"Because he has a personal involvement with Mrs. Peel," Tarrant observed. "He would do anything to protect her."

Charles was silent. Tarrant was deep in thought for a moment.

"I wonder if Willcombe-Smythe actually told Steed that Emma Peel was a traitor," mused Tarrant. "If he merely said something like 'Peel is a traitor', he could have been referring to Peter Peel, nee Pehlovich."

"I see," said Charles. "Since we haven't told Steed that Squadron Leader Peel is still alive, he would assume it referred to Emma." He sighed. "It's going to be impossible for Steed to straighten this one out."

Tarrant had to relight his pipe. "He _is_ our top troubleshooter."

"Troublemaker, is more like it," snorted Charles. "I ordered him to kill Mrs. Peel if he found her to be working for the KGB."

Tarrant shrugged. "Mrs. Peel doesn't really have much in the way of Her Majesty's Secrets. Steed has always kept her at arm's length from the identity of our agents, or any clandestine operations or installations. Besides, he could never bring himself to kill her."

"Of course; I agree," Charles said smugly. "So the only way Steed can buy back her life is to bring us the Zagadka decoder, then claim she was on an independent operation. I tell you, that machine is as good as ours already. Steed will bring us the device, or die trying."

-oOo-

Steed arched an eyebrow as he observed the sign on the door. In large, happy letters, it read: SUICIDE TRAINING.

Hard to believe such drastic measures would be needed. But he had swung by Mrs. Peel's flat on the way to the Ministry, only to find that she was still gone, along with her motorcycle. He pushed through the door with grim determination.

He had expected the room to be inhabited by a bespectacled doctor with a dry manner and a boxful of poisons. Instead, the room was largely empty except for a few vinyl mats spread out on the floor.

In the center of the room, a beautiful, slender woman was serenely holding a yoga pose. She sat on the floor with one leg stretched out in front of her and the other bent completely behind her head. There were two wooden hoops around each ankle and rings on two of her toes. Her only clothing was a revealing leotard with a flowered scarf wrapped around her waist to hide her lower abdomen. On another woman, the outfit might have been shameful; on her, it appeared natural, unconcerned. She turned her head as he entered the room, causing a jet-black ponytail to flow over her shoulder.

Steed politely removed his bowler. "Flexible," he commented.

She smiled warmly. "You may call me Narayana." She spoke with the taught-British accent of Bombay.

"What's it to be?" Steed asked cheerily. "Cyanide buttons? Nerve gas in a hollow tooth?" His voice was glib. "Or how about the old standard, I hang myself with my bootlaces?"

The woman did not respond to his flippancy. "You are John Steed?" she asked simply. She gracefully untangled herself and rose from the mat, stepping forward to pull him into a close embrace. Steed was startled as she held her warm body against his in absolute stillness until he was sure he could feel her heart beat against his chest. Then she released him.

"What was that?" he managed to stammer.

"I was touching your chakra."

"Without a chaperone present?"

"You spoke of poisons and hanging," she began gently. "But physical methods for killing oneself are ineffective in the espionage world of today. They can be discovered and disabled by the enemy."

Narayana led him to the mat in the center of the room. "I have sensed your aura and found you sufficiently capable. I will prepare you to kill yourself using only your mind."

Steed was confused. "So I can just _think_ myself to death?"

"In a manner of speaking," she answered. "Have you ever heard of Prana-Bindu techniques?"

Steed recalled the death of the Warlock, Cosmo Gallion, and the explanation that Rita Fox and Cathy Gale had given him. "That's stopping the breath and all life functions for a short period of time, isn't it?"

A smile crept across the guru's features. "I'm impressed, Mr. Steed. You're remarkably well-informed." Narayana again closed the distance between them. "I'm here to show you how to do it permanently."

"Semi-permanently might be better."

"It will require me to hypnotize you. The key is to put yourself into a mental state where you are actually able to embrace death."

"Like watching a Middlesbrough football match?" Steed offered.

She caused him to jump as she slid her hands to his shoulders. "Please remove your clothes."

His eyes widened and the smile slipped from his lips. "I beg your pardon?"

"There are pulse points on your arms, legs, and torso that I must check. If you are shy about exposing yourself, you may retain your underwear."

"That's mighty gracious of you," Steed recovered smoothly. "But a gentleman never reveals himself in front of a lady, except in intimacy."

"You would remove your clothes for a doctor, wouldn't you?"

"My doctor is sixty-seven years old and has no hair, jet-black or otherwise," Steed said wryly. "He can put his leg behind his head, but only because it's detachable from the War."

"Just think of me as a doctor," she said with an odd smile. "A doctor of Death."

-oOo-

Emma had spent the night in a suite of rooms in the finished portion of the caviar-packing plant. The ventilation had managed to filter out the fishy smell that pervaded the rest of the building, but Emma still spent fifteen minutes in the shower, just to make sure no lingering traces remained.

She had been only too happy to oblige when Leov made her the offer of staying on the premises at Canary Roe. Emma's instincts told her that she was closing in on The Ladja, and she didn't want her quarry slipping out of sight. He was either somewhere in the factory, or would visit here soon, to check up on Mistress Leov.

When Emma shut off the water taps, she heard the sound of someone moving around in the bedroom. She slipped quietly out of the shower stall, almost forgetting to grab a towel as she moved stealthily through the door, her bare feet padding silently on the carpet.

Mistress Leov was standing there. The leathers that Emma had left on the bed were gone; in their place was a decorative box from an expensive downtown London store.

"Where are my clothes?" Emma began sternly.

"I have a new outfit for you," Leov announced. "One that's designed to entice your target."

"My target?"

"The man in the picture."

"Oh, yes; of course." Emma pulled the towel tighter around her torso. Mistress Leov opened the box. It contained a silk dress so flimsy that Emma mistook it for lingerie.

Leov presented it to her. "It is important that you carry out a successful seduction," she added delicately.

"How did you know my size?"

"I didn't," the Mistress laughed. "But if it is too short, so much the better."

Emma looked at her acidly. "What if my target isn't attracted to trampy women?"

Leov stayed cool. "Nothing about the dress is trampy, Linda," she said evenly. "Be sure that you wear no perfume."

"Why not?"

"Men are subconsciously drawn to the scent of a woman. You must do nothing to obscure your natural fragrance."

Emma had always thought of herself as sexually enlightened, but Mistress Leov's worldview bordered on depravity. She wrinkled her mouth. "Do you have any other seduction advice you'd like to impart?"

Leov smiled wickedly.

"Please expose your breasts," she commanded.

Emma felt an involuntary surge of rage and grew wild-eyed.

"Excuse me?"

"I need to wire you for sound." Leov held up a small transmitter with pieces of flesh-colored tape affixed to it. "The device must be precisely positioned."

Emma somehow doubted that, but she was confident she could deal with anything the Mistress might try. She slowly lowered the towel. Leov gave her a dry smirk.

"Not as generous as mine, of course," she commented. "But there is sufficient room to hide it in your cleavage."

Emma briefly imagined herself driving her knee into the pit of the Russian's stomach, then wrapping her hands around the pale throat and choking the living daylights out of her. Then again, Leov might be a masochist who would enjoy the pain.

_The Ladja,_ Emma reminded herself. _This woman knows him personally. No sacrifice is too great._

If the Mistress read the violence in Emma's eyes, she gave no indication of it. She perfunctorily taped the electronics pack onto Emma's chest, nestling it so it wouldn't be visible through the thin dress. The upper surface had a microphone screen and a small antenna. Leov handed her a tiny earpiece.

"The device on your chest transmits all sound within a ten-foot radius," she explained. "It also receives signals and transmits them to your earphone. That way I can give you instructions while the operation is taking place."

Emma tried to seem casual. "Won't your boss be handling this operation personally?"

Leov was busy pressing buttons on a hand-held receiver, eliciting a loud screech of feedback as the microphone on Emma's chest became active. "Who?" she asked peevishly.

"The chess master," Emma clarified. "The man who tells you what to do."

Leov smirked. "No man dictates to me," she declared. "If he does, I simply take hold of his manhood and squeeze until he bows to my will."

"Something tells me you're not speaking metaphorically," Emma ventured.

The Mistress wore a wicked expression. "You would be surprised how deep you can make a man bow."

-oOo-

Steed left the room briefly, then returned to stand before Narayana in a pair of swim trunks he had managed to scrounge up from the Armourer.

"I hope I don't look too untouchable," he began.

"The caste system does not apply to you, Mr. Steed," she answered. "Those should be suitable."

He gave her a brilliant smile. "They're bulletproof."

"I see you wish to foil my advances," Narayana teased. "Please recall, once you are under hypnosis, I could command you to do anything I wished; even run the corridors of Whitehall wearing nothing but your bowler."

"I suspect the Ministers wouldn't be too keen on that."

She smiled. "Some of the women might be appreciative."

"You'll be sure to let me know, afterwards," he grinned.

Steed jumped as Narayana placed her hands against his body, even though her palms were warm. She traced a comforting design with her fingertips on his chest.

"I am going to condition you by invoking a state of deep hypnosis," she explained. "I will teach you two triggers—one which you can use on yourself, to induce the coma, and another which can be used by a fellow agent to revive you."

"Can't I just bring myself out whenever I want?"

"No; that would take years of practice. Once you stop breathing, you will no longer have any power to resuscitate yourself. Only an outside agency can do that."

"And this coma will simulate death?"

The guru nodded. "It has the advantage that most enemies will presume you dead, so you can't be tortured or interrogated. But if a friendly agent rescues you within four hours, you can be revived—provided the wake-up stimulus is known."

"And if it takes more than four hours?"

Her momentary silence was answer enough.

"Even the blade of an autopsy knife won't bring you out of this self-imposed coma," she continued. "You will not feel pain should this happen, nor should they embalm you. If your physical body is killed, or if more than four hours elapse, what little life functions you are maintaining will ebb away, and you will slip deep into the arms of Vishnu, becoming one with the Universe."

"That's not an embrace I'm looking forward to."

"It is a blissful way to die, I assure you."

"And how can you know that?"

Narayana smiled enigmatically. "In a few minutes, you will understand." She gestured for him to recline on the mat next to her. "What revival trigger would you like to choose? Tickling a toe? Squeezing a little finger?"

Steed thought for a moment.

"A kiss," he stated.

"A kiss?"

"It's not something I would expect an enemy to do, even during the most outrageous autopsy."

She arched her eyebrow. "It's not necessarily something you would expect a friendly agent to do either, even during the most outrageous rescue."

He smiled. "Most of my friends are women."

"I see," she mused. "There's an English fairy tale about someone under a spell being awakened by a kiss, is there not?"

"Actually, the original was French. But yes, that is the story."

She smiled. "I look forward to reviving you."

-oOo-

Emma was riding in an unmarked van heading for central London. Her appointment to seduce Steed had been set for this afternoon. She was still feeling overexposed in the whisper-thin silk summer dress; it wasn't a proper garment to wear in public. No doubt Mistress Leov was getting a depraved pleasure by forcing her to wear it. The van pulled to a stop opposite a small cafe.

Several men with camera cases spilled out the back of the vehicle and started setting up tripods nearby, camouflaged in the shrubbery. Leov took Emma aside and lectured her about the operation.

"You will meet your objective here this afternoon," she stated. "His name is John Steed. We will be recording and photographing everything, so make sure you keep him in the line of sight from the bushes over there." She indicated the relative positions of the van, the camera nest in the shrubbery, and the cafe table.

"When Mr. Steed arrives, it is up to you to make him feel as welcome as possible—put him at ease, as it were." Leov turned to look into her eyes. "Do you understand?"

Emma thought she understood. Suddenly, the dress and the rendezvous made sense. She was being asked to play the part of a prostitute. Leov handed her a small leather case.

"This is a present for Mr. Steed. He will be expecting it."

"It's not a bomb, is it?" Emma asked suspiciously, watching for Leov's reaction.

"My, no!" the Mistress exclaimed. "Mr. Steed is a friend."

Emma nodded. She would have been able to tell if Leov was deceiving her. Emma was still irritated that she had been unable to weasel any information out of Leov about the big boss. In spite of Emma's strong conviction that The Ladja really was in charge of this operation, she still wanted to know for sure.

Leov spoke into her receiver. "I will be in constant contact with you from here in the van. Can you hear my voice?"

Emma heard the echo of the question through her earpiece. "I hear you," she said simply.

"Good. You will respond to my instructions immediately and without question," Leov commanded.

_If she tries to get me to talk about anything government- or espionage-related, I'll pretend I don't understand,_ Emma thought. She didn't fully know what Leov's game was, but if she played long enough, she would get to The Ladja—of that she was certain.

One of the men huddled in the bushes was having difficulty with his camera. Leov noticed the disruption and marched over to confront him.

"What is it?" she demanded.

"The batteries are low. I need to get some new ones," the man said sheepishly.

Leov's eyes blazed with fury. The Mistress seized his hand, then bent his fingers backwards as he yowled in pain. "Next time, be prepared!" she warned.

Emma noticed the secret look of satisfaction that crossed the Russian woman's face. She was a sick one, to be sure.

-oOo-

Steed was lying flat on his back in the center of the room. A metronome was ticking next to his head, and the mesmerizing voice of Narayana was instructing him, matching its rhythm.

"You must now practice the trigger that will put you in a comatose state," she said. Her palm was pressed against his chest.

"Think of the death of a loved one," she continued. "Visualize it fully. The cold expression of the corpse. The sense of loss."

Steed thought of Emma working for the KGB. Fooling him all of this time. Pretending that she cared for him. He felt a catch in his chest as the sorrow hit him.

"There!" Narayana exclaimed. "I felt it. Excellent, Mr. Steed." She leaned over so that her lips were by his ear. "That will be your trigger memory. Focus on that."

Steed imagined the emptiness of a life without Emma. It would be an easy trigger to access, since it, his worst nightmare, could conceivably be coming true. He felt his arms and legs go suddenly numb. Something strange was happening to him.

"I'm going to touch you now," the guru whispered. "Do not be alarmed." Her hands danced lightly across his chest and thighs, checking his pulse at various points. Steed tried to move, found that he could not.

Narayana spoke softly and evenly. "You can barely hear, as if you are in a dream state. Random currents in the room swirl trace amounts of oxygenated air into your lungs. This is more than enough for you." Her eyes twinkled. "No need to breathe at all; lie perfectly still, and the universe will provide."

Steed felt his vision start to tunnel. He was convinced that he was no longer in his body. Narayana's voice continued to come to him, from across some misty ether.

"Your brain, which is normally alive with thought, has slowed to a crawl," she announced. "You must now think your thoughts in single file, one at a time. Think a single thought, Mr. Steed—hold it in your mind. Examine its beauty. This technique can be used not only to feign death, but to gain superlucidity. A clarity of thought that will allow you to solve the most difficult problems."

Steed was aware that he still existed, but conscious thoughts were hard to come by. His eyes were motionless. He could barely discern the voice as it sang on in its hypnotic tone.

"You can only think one thought at a time. You can only feel one nerve at a time," she commanded. "All of the nerve endings in your body are now inactive, except for a single nerve—in your upper lip, near the center. When it is exposed to the heat and moisture of another's lips, you will revive. Only then."

Steed was dead.

"When that happens, you will feel everything," Narayana beamed. "You will think everything. Your muscles will move normally."

She removed her ribbon so that her jet-black hair cascaded about her shoulders. Then she leaned over Steed's lifeless body and pressed her lips to his, letting them linger there until his breathing returned to normal.

-oOo-


	4. Crossed Signals

**Chapter 4**

The late afternoon sun was shimmering on the marble patio of the cafe. Most of the outside tables were empty, although several patrons had chosen to have a drink under the shade of the awning. Emma was seated at a table next to a thick stand of shrubbery, delicately sipping a cup of tea as she went over the plan of action in her head one more time.

Steed would be arriving any minute. He might be expecting to meet someone named Paulina, or he might just be expecting to meet a woman at a certain place at a certain time. In either event, he would not be expecting to see her. It was entirely possible that the first words out of his mouth would be "Mrs. Peel?"

If Mistress Leov had seen Steed's Ministry file, there was always a chance that it would contain some mention of "Emma Peel" in it, even though she wasn't in their employ. But even if Emma didn't show up in the Ministry records, a single phone call from Leov to The Ladja would reveal that a woman named "Mrs. Peel" had attacked her boss in hand-to-hand combat on two occasions in the past six months, both times ending with a well-placed kick to his groin. Emma smirked. Well, at least that part should please the Mistress.

Emma had to keep Steed from speaking the name "Peel". She intended to rush over and wrap him up in an embrace as quickly as possible. Still, with the microphone in her bosom picking up all sounds in a ten-foot radius, she dared not try to speak to him, even in _sotto voce._ Emma had briefly considered trying to press a finger to his lips to halt any remarks, but she would be standing in Leov's line-of-sight, and the action would be instantly suspicious.

There was only one possible course of action: she had to kiss Steed, suddenly and deeply.

Of course, she had kissed Steed on a handful of occasions during the past eight months, but never too seriously—and usually only as part of an undercover persona. A serious, passionate kiss would be so completely out-of-character between them that it would instantly telegraph to Steed the need to go along with the game.

Exactly why Steed would be meeting a prostitute named Paulina in a cafe was still a mystery. Emma felt she knew Steed well enough to rule out any actual commerce, so the object of the meeting must be something in the leather case that Leov had instructed her to give him. However, she couldn't open the case, or ask too many questions about it, without breaking her cover as Linda Herrington.

Emma knew she would just have to play it by ear, reacting to whatever Steed did, just as he would have to react to whatever she did. She smiled to herself. It should be a stimulating challenge.

The sound of footsteps on the patio disturbed her introspection. Steed had arrived.

He was dressed impeccably as always, with Cardin suit, oxford shirt, silk tie, and bowler. The ubiquitous umbrella was draped over his forearm; the rain in London could be sudden and persistent. The brolly also typically contained a sword blade, just in case.

Her joy at seeing him wasn't an act. During the events of the past two days, Emma had felt like an acrobat working without a net. Now that Steed was on the scene, they would provide mutual support to each other; she was sure of it.

In accordance with her plan, she rushed over to meet him, slipping both arms around his neck as she locked her mouth over his in a slow and impassioned kiss. Then she lingered afterward, tenderly nipping at his lower lip and flicking her tongue against his, just to make sure he wouldn't mistake her actions as casual. Finally, she broke off to give him a chance to speak.

"Hello," he said appreciatively, giving Emma a polite peck on the cheek that seemed incongruous and paltry next to her effort. "You smell nice."

"I'm not wearing anything," she answered curtly.

"Even nicer still."

Emma wrinkled her mouth as she imagined Mistress Leov gloating at the other end of the microphone. Steed held the chair out as a waiter arrived with the wine. Emma seated herself, trying to look as dignified as possible in what she now considered to be a hopelessly slutty dress.

"Miss Porzhisni," Steed beamed. "Or may I call you Paulina?"

"Paulina it is," she answered demurely. "I'm here to make you feel welcome."

Steed grinned. "You've been wildly successful already."

Emma looked deep into his eyes. The normal twinkle there seemed dimmed. Could that be suspicion she saw? _Surely, he doesn't think this is real?_ After everything they had been through together, what possible reason could he have to doubt her? Perhaps it would be best if she put her cards on the table, as it were.

Emma subtly rotated in her chair so that her back was both to the cameras and Leov's line-of-sight. She grinned mischievously as she held a finger to her lips. Then with a smooth motion, she hooked her thumbs over the neckline of the dress and tugged it downward, sliding her hands into a position to cover the tips of her breasts. Steed could clearly see the microphone and battery-operated transmitter nestled in her cleavage, affixed with flesh-colored tape. His eyes widened, and she realized that he could also see most of her left breast due to a miscalculation in her hand placement. Emma let the flimsy dress rebound back into position as she continued talking normally, conversationally, using her eyes to indicate the bushes where the cameras were located before turning back around.

She hoped that Steed would recognize that not only was she wired for sound, but that she was getting instructions through an earpiece, relayed through the device on her chest. Just in case he hadn't figured it out, she casually tugged on her right earlobe and gave him a wink.

Leov's voice suddenly sounded in her ear. "Tell him how manly he is."

Emma bristled at the input. She pretended to assess Steed as he poured the wine. "You're larger and taller than I expected," she complimented. "You must exercise a great deal."

He nodded. "I try to lead an active lifestyle. I have specially-weighted brandy snifters that work on my forearms."

"I like strong men," Emma commented vacuously. _This is ridiculous,_ she thought.

"Would you like to admire my musculature?" Steed offered. "I have excellent conformation." He smiled exaggeratedly. "Fine teeth as well."

"Oh, you're well-bred; I have no doubt of that." She gratefully sipped the wine that he offered, happy to get some alcohol into her system. She was going to need it to get through this. Steed moved closer to her.

"I'm impressed that you fell in love with me just from my picture," he said. "Although I am very photogenic." He leaned forward so that his nose nearly touched Emma's as he lightly caressed her cheek.

"Get his shirt off," Mistress Leov advised.

Emma coughed so that she nearly choked.

The Russian continued, "We need to make sure he's not recording the conversation. Spill your drink on him."

"Oops!" Emma said, heaving her drink directly at Steed's chest. "How clumsy of me."

Steed rose from the table as she rushed to his side.

"Allow me to help you take that off," Emma volunteered. She quickly unbuttoned his shirt down to the waist, lifting his undershirt to expose his torso as she used her linen napkin to daub up the spill. Leov could clearly see that he wasn't wearing any sort of transmitter or receiver. Emma let her hands play briefly across his bare chest before rebuttoning the shirt.

Before Emma could return to her seat, Steed spun her around to face away from him and enfolded her in his arms.

"Paulina," he murmured as he pressed close to her. "Your eyes are crystal pools; your cheek, so warm and innocent; your shoulders of alabaster; your _neck_..." Steed gently slid his fingers up her right arm; Emma smirked as she playfully swatted his hand away from her shoulder.

"What was that?" Leov barked into her ear.

"My, the mosquitos are bad for May," Emma sang liltingly.

Steed wouldn't be denied. He slipped his hand around her waist again, just as she attempted to pull away. Had he not understood her signals? Or had she not understood his?

Emma felt his warm lips on her shoulder and she caught her breath. The sudden arousal was almost incapacitating; she closed her eyes and lost focus for a moment. More and more, any initimate physical contact with Steed, even if it was play-acting, had the effect of shutting down her brain. Why were they here? What was he trying to do?

"Steed," Emma moaned quietly, although it was more a plea to continue than a request to stop.

She could feel his mouth as it danced up the side of her neck, settling to nibble on her right earlobe. Emma had no control as she felt her nipples become sharply erect, plainly visible through the thin dress, and she mentally winced as she imagined the non-stop clicking of the cameras as they captured her image in the trampy outfit. She silently cursed Steed for playing his part too well. This wasn't the time or place for this, particularly if he was just teasing her.

_Well, two can play that game,_ she thought smugly. She spun around to face him and pulled Steed's mouth down to hers. _I'll show him what a real seduction looks like._ While Emma kissed him in the way that only lovers do, she slipped one arm across his shoulder and the other over his hip, letting her hand wander down to give his backside a gentle squeeze. Then she pulled him even closer and pressed her lower abdomen against his, sexily swaying her hips. Steed jumped in startlement at the contact.

"Paulina—" he stammered.

_Why so surprised?_ Emma thought. _You started this by grazing on my shoulders. I thought you wanted to play lovers for the camera?_ Then it suddenly occurred to her that Steed's ear-nibbling wasn't a shameless attempt to arouse her; he was just trying to get a good look at the wireless earpiece, to help identify the opposition. Unfortunately, the instant his lips had touched her skin, she seemed to lose all ability to reason, and so missed his signal.

Still, Steed was smiling. He couldn't have been too angry at her actions. Leov's voice scratched in her ear, clearly pleased as well.

"You have exceeded all my expectations, Linda," she said. "Now hand him the case."

Emma reached for the leather handle beside her chair. This time, she was sure she could hear the click of a high-speed reflex camera from the bushes nearby.

"I have something for you," she said coyly. She brought the case up and set it on the table.

"Do you know what's in this?" Steed asked seriously.

Before Mistress Leov's voice could stop her from answering, Emma said, "No. Should I?"

"The real Paulina would know," Steed said evenly. "This has all been a trap, hasn't it?"

Confusion crossed Emma's face as four men in overalls suddenly appeared on the balcony. One hurled a fishing net over Steed while another approached with a long, stick-like weapon resembling a speargun. It emitted a low humming noise.

"Stand back," came Leov's voice in her ear. "You have done well, Mrs. Herrington."

The man carrying the weapon pressed it against Steed's side, and there was a loud crackle as the electric prod made contact. Steed's body spasmed wildly for a second, then his movements became sluggish as the men easily tightened the net and hustled him away.

It had all happened so quickly that Emma had no time to react. All she could do was stand dumbfounded as the men loaded Steed into the back of the van. Mistress Leov motioned for Emma to join her in the front seat; Emma sprinted over, not wanting to let Steed out of her sight. The instant she sat down next to Leov, the Mistress produced a small pistol and pressed it into her side. The game had taken an unexpected turn, Emma thought, but she could still gain control of the situation if she remained cool and watched for the opportunity.

The van hastily returned to Canary Roe, carrying Leov, her henchmen, and the two prisoners. From the corner of her eye, Emma watched over Steed's recovery in the back of the van. Steed had long ago convinced her that the two of them were invincible, as long as they worked together. She would need him to be at full capacity before she made a move against Leov.

Emma set her jaw with grim determination. If Steed had to be the bait to lure The Ladja into the open, so be it. She would make sure that nothing happened to him.

-oOo-

Mistress Leov strolled down the hall in the finished portion of the caviar-packing plant. She was dressed in her full leather uniform, complete with whip and stiletto heels. Several workers cowered in fear as she passed by.

She smiled to herself. It had been a brilliant move on her part to lure Emma Peel into being the sacrificial lamb in this operation, instead of a stranger. As the British saying went, it would kill two birds with one stone. Once his wife was out of the way, Pehlovich would belong to her exclusively. Pyotr would be furious, of course, when he found out. But by that time both Emma Peel and John Steed would be dead.

The Ladja was stationed on a catwalk overlooking the main vacuum-packing apparatus. She sauntered over to him and kissed him on the cheek.

"Good evening, Pyotr," she crooned.

Pehlovich took her in his arms. "Do we have Steed?"

"Locked in a cell, with two guards," Leov announced smugly.

Pehlovich nodded. "I trust you found a suitable woman to play Paulina Porzhisni?"

"The woman I found was perfect. She could hardly keep her hands off Steed."

"And what about the photographs and recordings?"

"I have just come from the darkroom. Once these pictures and tapes are forwarded to the Ministry, they will clearly see that the two were lovers."

"When you kill Paulina, make sure that there can be no doubt that Steed is the murderer."

"I have taken my own steps so that no one will doubt that he killed her."

The Ladja chucked her under the chin. "Showing some initiative, eh?" He slipped his hand down to her waist. "Once Steed is out of the way, perhaps I can have a little reunion with my wife."

_Only at the funeral,_ thought Leov.

-oOo-


	5. Canary Roe

**Chapter 5**

Emma was shuffling along one of the carpeted halls in the finished portion of Canary Roe, escorted by one guard in front of her and another in back. Just in case she was thinking about turning and making a run for it, her ankles had been loosely shackled together by a short chain, effectively hobbling her. She was still in the flimsy dress that Leov had forced her to wear; but they had just passed by Emma's room, and she had seen her leathers lying on the bed, beckoning to her, spurring her to action.

She hadn't anticipated they would capture Steed. If they wanted him so badly, why not just snatch him off the street? What was the point in having him show up for a meeting with someone named Paulina Porzhisni? And what had been in that small case she handed him?

When the van had arrived at the caviar-packing plant, Leov had left immediately, before Steed could regain his senses; either she didn't want him to see her, or she was eager to report to The Ladja. When Steed finally became aware what was going on, he was separated from Emma and hustled into the factory. Emma noticed they had made no attempt to blindfold him. That was probably a bad sign; if they had intended to let Steed live, they would have taken some precautions to keep their location a secret. Come to think of it, that same logic applied to her, as well; her death must also be part of the plan.

They were imprisoning Steed in a different part of Canary Roe than her. That must mean Leov didn't want the two of them to get together and compare notes. To Emma, that elevated a meeting with Steed up to first priority. This was followed closely by finding The Ladja, beating the tar out of him, then finding Leov, and beating the tar out of her, for good measure. It was quite an action list that Emma had compiled. Might as well add to it retrieving her leathers and destroying the slutty dress. It was a shame that the shackles and guards were interfering with her well-planned agenda.

As she emerged from the finished part of the plant with her two guards, she was prodded across a rickety catwalk that spanned the main factory floor. Several open vats of caviar loomed below, their noxious vapors rising up towards the slowly rotating fans overhead.

Emma knew that the guards accompanying her must have crossed the catwalk a hundred times. But probably not while someone was purposely shaking it.

Suddenly dropping face-down onto the tread surface, Emma started lunging violently from side to side. The catwalk oscillated wildly, and the guard in front plunged over the rail, falling a dozen feet into a vat of sticky black fish eggs. The guard behind her was dislodged as well, precariously hanging onto the catwalk with a single hand.

"Help!" he cried.

Emma smiled sympathetically and extended her hand towards him. When he tried to grasp it to rescue himself, she evaded his fingers and instead pulled the keys out of his shirt pocket. The guard lost his grip and fell screaming towards the vat of caviar, landing on top of the other guard, who had just managed to reach the surface.

She quickly unlocked her leg shackles and looked down to see the two men bobbing back to the top of the fishy mixture, angrily shouting at her. With a jaunty wave, she tossed the shackles and keys onto their heads and took off running.

Emma lost no time in sprinting back to her suite of rooms. She donned some underwear and her leathers, indulging herself with an extra second of joy as she ripped the dress in half. Then she headed back to the section of the plant where they had taken Steed to be held prisoner.

-oOo-

One of the storerooms in the industrial section of the plant had been set up as a makeshift cell. Emma peeked around the corner that led to the access corridor. Undoubtedly, Steed was being held inside; the two bored guards pacing impatiently in front of the door confirmed that.

Emma wouldn't bother with self-recriminations if anything had happened to Steed. After all, he could have been abducted at any time by The Ladja and Leov, even without her participation in the trap. It was Steed's ability to not only survive these types of situations, but to do it with _style_ that made the man just so damned sexy. Emma's mind reeled back to when she first saw him springing from the bushes in the Amazon, attacking a band of armed gun-runners with naught but a wooden quarterstaff. Just the memory of his panache brought a warm flush between her thighs.

Her only regret was that they had so badly crossed signals at the cafe yesterday—it was very unlike the two of them to be so out of synch. Perhaps Steed would be able to explain what went wrong when she met up with him.

As if Steed had suddenly returned to her psychic wavelength, he pounded on the inside of the cell door. "I say, any chance of getting a meal in here?" he shouted. "I'm famished!"

Emma grinned. It was as if he had calculated how long it would take her to get free, arrive outside the cell, and be in need of a diversion. In true Steed fashion, she would improvise. Her eyes lit up at the sight of a bright red fire extinguisher on the wall.

She snatched the extinguisher from its bracket and ran directly at Steed's cell. "Fire!" she screamed hysterically, spraying short bursts of foam into the air. The two guards turned towards her in a panic.

Emma quickly sprayed foam directly into the face of the guard on the right and rammed the bottom of the extinguisher into the stomach of the guard on the left; then she reversed the procedure. The end result was two guards incapacitated on the ground, each with a face full of foam and the wind knocked out of him. Emma found the symmetry satisfying.

The keys on the wall unlocked the storeroom door, and Emma swung it open with a creak. Steed was leaning casually against the cinderblock wall, straightening his bowler and tie.

"Where's the fire?" he asked cheerily.

"Are you okay?" Emma asked, her face a mask of concern as she rushed to his side.

"You mean after you led me into a trap where I was hit with enough watts to soft-boil an egg?" he teased with a grin. "As well as can be expected..."

"I'm sorry, Steed." She smiled and gave his cheek a light caress. "You're not soft-boiled, are you? If I had known they would play that rough, I would have given you some notice."

"They _are_ the KGB," he chided. "'Rough' is their middle name when it comes to people like me."

Emma grew wide-eyed. "The KGB? What?"

"Not only that," Steed continued, "the Ministry is convinced you're a double agent working for them."

"How did they get that idea?"

"You _were_ masquerading as Paulina Porzhisni," he offered.

"You mean Paulina the Prostitute?" she smirked.

Steed arched an eyebrow. "No, Paulina the East German cipher clerk and Russian operative," he said.

"I see." Emma's eyes blazed.

"Well?" Steed prompted.

"I was set up by a violent leather-clad woman."

Steed scanned her outfit from head to toe and looked at the two guards on the floor with a wry grin. Emma cleared her throat.

"_Another_ violent leather-clad woman," she said tersely.

Steed straightened his clothes and practiced his brilliant smile. "Perhaps I can charm my way past her."

"Don't waste your breath; you're a man," Emma replied. "She hates men. All except one."

"And who is this man amongst men?"

"The Ladja."

Steed grinned. "Suddenly, your involvement here becomes clear to me."

Emma nodded. "This may be my one chance to trap him."

"Canary Roe is his stronghold, Mrs. Peel," Steed reminded her. "It's entirely possible he'll trap you instead. We need help."

"I couldn't agree more. That's why you're going to fetch some backup."

"I am?"

Emma looked directly into Steed's eyes and tenderly stroked his arm. "I don't know what their whole plan is, but capturing you seems to be a key part of it. The sooner you're out of here, the better."

The guards on the floor were beginning to stir. Emma picked up the fire extinguisher and emptied the rest of the foam upon their prone forms. "Stay down!" she warned, "unless you want me to get really rough."

The two guards stopped moving and held their place, probably not liking the two-against-two odds when one of them was the dangerous Emma. They didn't interfere as she escorted Steed down the hall towards a side exit.

Steed teased her under his breath, "Paulina the Prostitute, eh? Well, that explains your outfit and your... amorousness."

"You weren't exactly coy yourself," Emma bristled. "Why would you start kissing the neck of a complete stranger?"

"You had supposedly fallen in love with my photograph. And I was trying to check out the earpiece."

Emma was silent for a moment. "I saw it in your eyes," she said suddenly as she turned to face him. "You had a moment of doubt about me, there in the cafe."

"Doubt?" Steed deadpanned. "Not at all. I was just uncertain as to how you wanted to play the game."

"By my own rules, of course," Emma smirked. "And the Golden Rule is: As long as I get The Ladja, nothing else matters. Capturing him should be our only objective."

"That's not exactly true," Steed interposed. "We need the Zagadka."

"The who?"

"Not _who,_ but _what,_" he corrected. "It's the decoding device in the case you were handing me."

"Why on earth should we care about that?"

"I'll explain later." _Best not to tell her about the Ministry's demands,_ he thought.

"So we're in agreement," Emma announced. "You go for help, I'll scout around Canary Roe to see if I can find a line on The Ladja."

Steed opened the side door. "I'll be right back," he cautioned. "Don't get involved in anything foolish."

-oOo-

Emma wore a feral grin as she moved stealthily through the maze of piping and concrete at the caviar-packing plant. Her action list had shortened considerably; she was crossing off items at a rapid rate. She was free, and now Steed was free, and going for help; she was secure in her leathers like a stalking panther, and the trampy dress of Mistress Leov's would never display a trollop's wares again. All that remained was her face-to-face confrontation with The Ladja.

She had retraced her steps back to the finished portion of the plant, where her own suite of rooms were located. If The Ladja had an office, it would probably be somewhere in this wing. Emma started on the floor above her, checking out each door she came to. Several were locked; luckily, The Ladja and his staff were very conscientious about fire safety, so she once again adopted her favorite tool, the fire extinguisher, to use as a battering ram.

One door opened into a dimly lit room. As Emma looked inside, she thought the opposite wall contained a mirror. Then she noted that her reflection had grown a larger bosom and hips. In addition, the reflection was brandishing the silhouette of a whip.

Emma frowned. The time for politeness was over.

"Take me to The Ladja," she commanded.

Mistress Leov smiled malevolently as she stepped forward. She was dressed head-to-toe in leather, with stiletto-heeled boots. "I was wondering how long it would take you to figure everything out," she said.

"Stop stalling," Emma interrupted. "I know you work for him."

"Work? More than that, I should think," the Mistress crooned. "He is my lover."

Emma wrinkled her mouth in disgust. "You... and The Ladja?"

Mistress Leov snorted. "You're one to talk, Mrs. Peel."

"You know my name," Emma said.

"Yes, I know everything about you and Pyotr."

Emma noticed she had pronounced the name with a strange Russian twist. Had this woman known Peter?

"Then you must know that I am The Ladja's sworn enemy," Emma announced.

An ironic smile touched Mistress Leov's mouth.

"No, I didn't," she declared. "How delicious. Then he will certainly forgive me if I kill you."

"You can try," Emma smirked. She adopted a martial pose with her hands out in front of her.

The whip cracked twice, but Emma successfully used the leather on her forearm to protect her face. Then an expert single flick caused a thin line of blood to appear on the back of her hand. Mistress Leov dropped the whip and approached. Was she opting for hand-to-hand combat?

Emma's head spun dizzily as the soporific took effect. By the time Leov reached her, Emma had already collapsed to her knees. The Mistress used the side of her boot to kick Emma to the ground.

"My whip contains a paralyzing agent," Leov explained. "The heels of my shoes are coated with a fast-acting poison." She raised her foot so that it hovered over Emma's right hand. Emma tried to move, but could not. At least she could still speak, though with difficulty.

"You're going to kill me with your shoe?" Emma said weakly.

The Mistress smiled. "No, I won't kill you—not yet. I have a plan all worked out. Steed is going to murder you, his lover, for being a KGB spy."

"I'm not his lover."

"Really? That's not what I see in your eyes. You, who claimed to hate all men. Steed will then take his own life. The scandal following your deaths will ensure that Steed will be remembered as a disgrace to the Ministry, and to England."

Emma grunted as she tried to move. It was hopeless. "No one will believe that," she contradicted.

"Yes, they will," Leov gloated. "Especially with the pictures and tape-recording of your meeting."

"So we met." Emma could barely get the words out as the drug spread through her system.

"Yes, at a meeting setup by the British Ministry of Defence to obtain a KGB Zagadka decoder machine. Too bad the deal went sour. Part of Steed's motivation for killing you, no doubt."

Leov used her toe to flip Emma over onto her back. Kneeling down next to her, she slipped her finger into the loop at Emma's neck, then with a quick tug unzipped her leathers to the waist. She then stripped them off of her, leaving only her black satin underwear. The Mistress reclined on the floor and ran her hands across Emma's smooth, flat stomach.

"When your body is found dressed like this, shot by a gun with Steed's fingerprints, next to his corpse in a hotel room," Leov declared smugly, "then there will be no doubt."

"No," Emma protested weakly. _Don't let them catch you, Steed!_

Then she slipped into darkness.

-oOo-

None of the vans in the parking lot had keys, and Steed was too unfamiliar with the model to attempt any creative re-wiring. Instead, he sneaked into a darkened garage area towards the rear of the caviar-packing plant. Plenty of automobiles were parked here; part of the motor pool, no doubt. The keys were arranged and labeled on a pegboard against the wall. Quite handy. He made his selection and turned back towards the line of cars.

A pattern was visible in the darkness: small squares of light were reflecting back in alternating rows. It was a chessboard mask. Then Steed heard a low hum, like the sound of a hornet. It was a sound he had heard before, at the cafe. He was not eager to experience the effects of the electric stunner again.

The Ladja stepped forward into the light. Steed greeted him solemnly.

"Checkers," he said.

"John Steed," The Ladja answered.

"Any chance you've seen a Zagadka machine around here? It's about this large, comes in a case," Steed said glibly, gesturing with his hands. "Decodes top secret messages..."

"Merely bait, the excuse for you to meet with Paulina Porzhisni," The Ladja replied. "The woman you will kill."

"Me? Kill Paulina? That hardly seems likely." _But even if I did, the Ministry authorized me to kill Mrs. Peel. What can The Ladja be thinking?_ Steed took a step backward, casting his eyes about for any sort of weapon he could use against the electric prod.

"Once Paulina's body is found, killed by a gun with your fingerprints, I have made sure that the Ministry will receive pictures and recordings of your tryst at the cafe today."

Steed kicked an air hose up into his adversary's face. The Ladja swatted it away with the prod, amidst a shower of sparks.

"Careful, Steed," he cautioned. "This weapon is strong enough to stun a shark."

The Ladja pressed forward, trying to block any avenue of escape.

"Nothing awaits you in the future but disgrace and the hangman," he continued. "Imagine the disappointment of that partner of yours—Emma."

Steed arched his eyebrows. _Charles was right—the right hand doesn't know what the left is doing,_ Steed thought. _He doesn't know Mrs. Peel is playing Paulina!_

Steed was only a few steps away from the car listed on the keytag in his fist. He broke into a run and jumped into the car, slamming the door behind him. He had just managed to get the key into the ignition when The Ladja dived forward and discharged the prod against the frame of the car.

Steed spasmed as the voltage shot through his body, then collapsed back into the seat.

The Ladja strolled smugly over to the side of the car and opened the door. Steed's body spilled out onto the pavement. Two henchmen showed up on command.

"Take this man inside," The Ladja ordered. He lifted his mask and smiled evilly.

"The Mistress will know what to do with him."

-oOo-


	6. The Perils Of Paulina

**Chapter 6**

Steed gradually became aware of a steady dripping sound near his left ear. He opened his eyes, but the harsh light and a pounding headache made it difficult to focus. The sound was probably water condensing from a cooling pipe; that meant he was still at Canary Roe. As Steed tried to move, he realized several things: his hands were tied behind his back, his feet were tied before him, and he was wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. Then he felt the heat of skin-on-skin contact against his right side. Steed turned his head, immediately causing his nose to press against a familiar-scented tress of auburn hair. The body snuggled next to him was Mrs. Peel; her head was resting on his shoulder.

When his eyes had adjusted to the light, he could see that she was tied up and stripped down to her underwear as well; it was black satin—shiny and extremely sexy. Steed had seen her in various states of undress before, but it never failed to take his breath away or cause his heart to beat faster. Rather than struggle prematurely, he waited for Mrs. Peel to regain her senses; he passed the time admiring her flawless peach skin and the way the line of her leg flowed next to his.

Several minutes passed, and it was clear Mrs. Peel wouldn't be rousing without help. Steed was reluctant to move while she was leaning against him, afraid that she might topple over and hit her head on the hard floor. He did the only thing he could while tied up: he let his lips brush delicately against her cheek as he quietly called her name.

"Mrs. Peel? Mrs. Peel?"

She started to twitch slightly from his attentions, turning her head so that her lips fluttered against his. Even though she hadn't wakened yet, something in her subconscious spurred her to press her mouth to his in an urgent and hungry kiss.

"Steed," she moaned softly, cuddling closer to him. Steed smiled; he could tell she was still under a drug's influence to behave so wantonly. He continued to murmur his coaxings, enjoying the close contact.

Emma stirred suddenly and gave a reflexive jerk. Fully awakened, she tried to jump to her feet, ready for combat action, only to fall clumsily back against him. Her eyes sprang open as she took in her surroundings. Steed tried to calm her.

"Take it easy, Mrs. Peel," he cooed soothingly. "We're tied up."

"Damn you, Steed," she chided without anger. "You let them capture you."

Steed smiled. "Just another episode in 'The Perils of Paulina'," he said cheerily. "You seem to be having trouble staying dressed today."

"Blame our captors," Emma bristled. "You're not exactly dressed for the Royal Cotillion, either."

"I know they want to make sure we don't have concealed weapons, but this is ridiculous."

"We're supposed to be having a tryst," she said, "or so I've been told."

"I see," Steed teased, rubbing his bare leg against hers. "You 'tryst' rather nicely." His playful contact caused her to press her thighs together demurely.

"I recall you've seen me in less before," Emma observed.

"A gentleman never tells."

"According to Mistress Leov, it's all part of the tableau they want to create," she explained. "We're supposed to be lovers. You find out that I'm betraying you by working for the KGB and murder me; then in anguish for your actions, you take your own life."

Steed nodded. "The Ladja told me a similar story, only in his, I was left alive to face disgrace and the hangman's noose. He also didn't seem to know that you were the one playing Paulina."

Emma's eyes lit with fire. "You've seen The Ladja?"

"Ol' Checkers pole-axed me himself," Steed declared. "I didn't stand much of a chance against that electric shark prod. That device must have a condenser the size of the Channel." He was thoughtful for a moment. "It's interesting that The Ladja's and Leov's versions of the plan differ."

Emma shrugged. "We're already dressed for their little drama. All they need to do now is stage our deaths." She frowned. "Just what possessed that madman to think the Ministry would believe such a scenario?"

Steed was silent. Emma noticed the sudden change and became cold herself, withdrawing so that her body no longer touched his.

"What haven't you told me?" she asked.

"Something happened earlier this month," he said quietly. "When we were at Europa."

"Philo Jupiter's place? With the Tontine?"

"You left the room as Group Captain Willcombe-Smythe was dying," Steed continued. "With his last words, he told me 'Peel is a traitor.'"

Emma was silent for a moment.

"I see," she replied icily. Her eyes shot condemning daggers at him, as if he had betrayed her by not taking her into his confidence. Steed faced straight ahead so he wouldn't have to look at her directly.

"With due respect to the dead, I would have allowed the possibility that he meant your late husband; but the Group Captain said 'is', not 'was'," Steed reasoned. "Also, the files that the Ministry provided me gave no indication that Squadron Leader Peel was involved in anything shady."

"So the Group Captain must have meant me," she said simply.

"That's the way I read it. I think he said it from spite, just as a final parting shot at his undoing; but you can understand the Ministry being cautious. And when you showed up as the KGB contact with the Zagadka..."

"I hope you set them straight," Emma said curtly.

"Not yet, but I plan to."

She sighed in frustration. "So there's actually a chance The Ladja's plan could work."

"I'm afraid so."

Steed waited while Emma sat in silence a bit longer, and he knew she was passing judgment. He finally turned and looked into her eyes. Instead of the disgust he expected to see building there, he saw only warmth and forgiveness. She moved back closer and rubbed her bare shoulder against his.

"Let's get out of here," she said resolutely.

-oOo-

A large pane of one-way glass formed the wall of The Ladja's office, overlooking the main factory floor at Canary Roe. He stood next to the window, watching as the various conveyors moved tins between the vats. Forklifts were shuttling crates to and from the various warehouses.

"It's time for the final phase of Operation Zagadka," he announced.

Mistress Leov stood at attention by his side. Pyotr Pehlovich slipped his hand around her waist.

"I used the identification in Steed's wallet to reserve a hotel room in his name," he began.

Leov arched an eyebrow. "How were you able to do that?"

"Haven't you ever noticed how much Steed and I look alike?" Pehlovich asked. "Dressed in his clothes, I could easily be mistaken for him."

Leov nodded. The similarities were uncanny.

"I have prepared a packet for the Ministry," she said. "It contains pictures and recordings of Steed caressing Paulina and of her handing over the Zagadka. It will be delivered to Sir Gerald Tarrant tomorrow, anonymously, of course."

The Ladja smiled. "Then all that remains is to put the players in position," he declared. "Use your whip to paralyze Steed. I'll have a van ready to take him to the hotel, along with the dead body of the woman playing Paulina."

"She's still alive," Leov said casually.

"Oh, yes?" Pehlovich said with an evil grin. "Take care of that, will you?"

-oOo-

Emma pointed her toes and started moving her feet in opposite directions, trying to work them free of the rope around her ankles. To Steed, it seemed that with each pass, her feet were getting narrower and narrower.

"Do you think you can get free?" he asked.

"All those years of ballet will finally pay off," Emma declared. "I should be able to rotate my ankles and slip one foot out..." With a grunt of exertion, she yanked her left foot up through the loop.

Steed smiled. "You're the second-most flexible person I've seen today," he teased.

Emma arched an eyebrow. "I'll ask you later about the first." She squatted next to Steed. "Lean against me, and I'll help you into a standing position."

Steed raised himself against her. Emma started walking around the room where they were imprisoned, her hands still tied behind her back, with Steed hopping after her.

"Not so fast," he said playfully. "One-footed man here."

"King of the village of men with no feet," she joked automatically. "Nothing here sharp enough to cut anything. Want to bet that the guard has a knife?"

"I can always lure him in here," Steed grinned.

"And I can hide behind the door," she said as she bent her legs in a curtsy, then pranced over into position. Emma kicked against the door, making a rapping sound.

"Oh, guard!" Steed sang out. "These ropes seem to have come loose! Could you please come in and tighten them?"

The guard opened the door in time to see Steed hopping away. He took two steps into the room, which was enough for Emma to slam the door behind him as she sprang from her hiding place.

With a strident shout of "Aiya!", she flashed her bare foot upwards between the guard's legs and buried the instep in his crotch. Steed was still tied, so all he could contribute was a firm headbutt into the man's chest. His efforts were hardly necessary; Emma's attack had been so perfectly delivered into the vulnerable nerve plexus that the man was temporarily paralyzed, his legs giving way beneath him as he collapsed to the ground. Emma rolled the stunned man over with a toe and plopped her satin-covered rear onto his back to keep him pinned down, at the same time giving Steed a smile that was sweetness and innocence.

Steed smiled back. "I cringe every time I see you do that," he said wryly.

"Not nearly as much as the recipient, I wager," she observed smugly. "A _kin-geri_ was the best I could do with only my feet free. Search his pockets for something to cut these ropes."

Steed hopped over next to her and groped around behind his back at the guard's belt. No need to check the pockets; there was a knife in a sheath on the right side. He quickly cut his bonds, then Emma's. The guard was starting to stir again. Steed reknotted some of the cut ropes and tied the guard's feet.

"Don't tie his hands yet," Emma said. She reached forward and pulled the guard's turtleneck sweater off while he was still too dazed to put up any resistance. Steed finished tying the guard's wrists while Emma donned the sweater and rolled up the sleeves; it was large enough that it fit her like a minidress.

Steed peeked out the door to make sure it was all clear. "Now we just fight our way out of Canary Roe and bring the cavalry," he said.

Emma's eyes blazed. "I'm going after The Ladja. You get help."

"We tried that once before," Steed admonished her mildly. "This time we're sticking together. Strength in numbers, that sort of thing?"

Emma sighed. "Very well," she conceded. "Stay behind me."

Steed gave her a teasing smile. "You always get to lead going into danger. Why can't I lead?"

Emma shrugged. "Whatever you say," she offered. "But you'll need to be extra careful, Steed."

"Why is that?"

"Mistress Leov likes to hurt men."

He arched an eyebrow. "Emotionally?"

"Physically."

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

"The end of her whip is impregnated with a paralysis drug, and the spike points on her stiletto heels are dipped in fast-acting poison," Emma continued. "If she gets hold of you, she'll make what I did to that guard look like a friendly handshake."

"So you're saying she'll try to paralyze me with her whip, poison me with her spike heel shoes, and if all else fails, strangle me with her bare hands—all because I'm a man?"

"Something like that."

"Perhaps you better lead after all, Mrs. Peel."

She smiled. "My pleasure."

The two of them crept down the access corridor, twice ducking behind pipes to avoid a passing workman. After only a few minutes, a cry went up; someone had found the tied guard and was alerted to the escape.

"This way," Emma said gruffly as she led Steed towards the finished portion of the plant. "My suite of rooms overlooks a section of the roof with a ladder leading down. It should be safer than trying to walk out the front door." She turned a corner and stopped.

Steed nearly ran into the back of Emma, then caught sight of the obstacle barring their path.

It was a voluptuous woman dressed head-to-toe in leather, with laces in strategic locations to reveal an indecent amount of skin. Her hair was tinted auburn, pulled back and braided into a ponytail. Stiletto-heeled boots and a whip completed her ensemble. The woman looked as if someone had purposely tried to create a perverse caricature of Mrs. Peel with an exaggerated chest and sumptuous hips in a decadent leather bodysuit. From the description he had been given, this must be Mistress Leov. He was wary of the weapon she held in her right hand, remembering the paralyzing agent it contained.

Leov took a step forward. "Going somewhere?" she asked.

Emma was quiet, watching for an opportunity. Before any could occur, a group of a dozen henchmen appeared carrying guns. The Mistress motioned for them to lead Steed away. Leov smirked at Emma.

"Now it's time for me to put _my_ plan into action."

-oOo-

Mistress Leov had joined Pyotr Pehlovich, The Ladja, at the one-way glass in his office. She gestured down to the factory floor where two guards were leading an auburn-haired woman in black satin lingerie toward the gas-packaging station.

"There's your Paulina," she smirked.

The Ladja was too stunned for anger. "That's my wife!" he stammered.

"Don't you see the beauty of it?" the Mistress purred. "If the dead body is a stranger, there may be some doubt, however small, that Steed isn't guilty." She tenderly stroked Pehlovich's arm. "But since it's the woman he's worked with for the past six months, it instantly becomes more believable. Steed killed her in a fit of passion for her betrayal. It's only natural that he should then take his own life."

The Ladja was silent.

She continued, "My plan accomplishes the same disgrace and death as yours, but without any of the uncertainties of the British legal system."

"You're proposing that I should kill my own wife, just to get back at Steed," he charged.

Leov gave him a look of stern reproach. "This will help you sever all ties with the past," she announced. "Then we can get on with our life together."

The Ladja seemed unwilling to accept her logic. Then an evil smile tugged at his mouth.

"There is no need for Emma's body to be found with Steed's," he said simply.

Mistress Leov was quiet. The Ladja continued.

"Originally, the woman was to be found dead and Steed would face the hangman," he mused. "But now, we can kill Steed, making it look like suicide, and Emma can escape with me behind the Iron Curtain."

Leov's eyes were afire.

"I don't know why you still cling to your wife," the Mistress snapped. "She's a skinny, inept bed-partner who loves Steed more than she ever loved you."

The Ladja didn't seem to hear her invective. "It's brilliant!" he exclaimed. "The Ministry is now convinced that Emma is a KGB operative. Her life here in England is over." He turned and grabbed Leov by the forearm. "I can swoop in and rescue her—I'll say that I have some friends in Moscow, that we can defect together, to save her life." His eyes lit up. "I will make the supreme sacrifice."

Leov's voice was dangerous. "And what about me?" she fired back.

A lecherous grin crossed Pyotr's face.

"I'll always have need of a Mistress."

-oOo-

The guard's sweater had been returned to its owner, so Emma was once again reduced to her underwear. She was escorted into a large workroom filled with industrial machinery. Leg shackles were fastened around her ankles, connected by several feet of welded metal links to a bolt set in the concrete floor. Emma yanked vigorously on the chain to test its strength; it would not be yielding to her efforts anytime soon. The guards filed out of the room, leaving her unattended.

A small glass-walled booth was several feet away, just out of her reach. Its interior was dark. She heard the static of a loudspeaker, and an electronically-distorted voice echoed through the room.

"Gas-packaging is very important to preserving the taste of caviar," the voice explained. A light came on to illuminate the inside of the booth; Steed was huddled against one wall, still in his boxers.

"Oxygen can breed bacteria that can spoil the taste," the voice continued. "That is why all of the air is pumped out and replaced with an inert gas—in this case, argon."

Emma recognized something familiar about the cadence of the voice. There was a sudden clunk of an electric starter, followed by the whir of a motor.

"Sadly, Steed is unable to breathe argon," the voice concluded malevolently.

Emma scrambled across the floor towards the glass wall. At her farthest extent, she could barely touch the surface with the tips of her fingernails. She started casting about the area reachable by the chain, looking for a projectile to break the glass. The guards had been careful to remove any loose objects.

Steed was leaning against the glass, looking at her. Emma wasn't sure if it was already the lack of oxygen inside or the thickness of the wall, but it was effectively soundproof. She watched in horror as Steed moved his lips, trying to communicate something to her.

The loudspeaker came to life again. "Mistress Leov felt it was important for you to see your lover suffocate before your eyes," the voice declared. "Frankly, I agree with her; it will give you closure."

Emma's normal composure crumbled. "You sadists!" she screamed in desperation. She began to yank against the chain like an enraged mastiff.

The loudspeaker shut off, and the room was suddenly quiet except for the sound of the pump churning away. Steed turned and winked at her, once. Then he collapsed lifelessly to the floor of the chamber.

"No!" Emma cried.

A lone tear trickled down her cheek as she crawled as close to the booth as she could get, minutely observing his body for any motion whatsoever, any sign of respiration. A minute passed. He was completely still.

Steed was dead.

-oOo-


	7. Kiss From An Angel

**Chapter 7**

Peter Peel, born Pyotr Pehlovich, leaned over the body that had been removed from the gas-packaging chamber and laid out on a utility table. He grinned triumphantly.

"John Steed is dead!" he announced with a joyous clap.

Mistress Leov stood nearby, looking less certain. "He didn't last as long as most," she observed. "Usually, a person can survive without oxygen for several minutes. Are you sure he's dead?"

Pehlovich pressed his ear to Steed's chest. "No respiration, no pulse," he said gleefully. "Emma will be mine again!"

Mistress Leov frowned at his remark. "I bet if I try mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, I could bring him back," she argued. She leaned over, her lips only inches away from Steed's.

"Don't you dare," Pehlovich chortled. "Let him lie for the next ten minutes. Even you would have to admit he's dead after that amount of time."

Leov shrugged and nodded agreement. Pyotr went to a pile that contained Steed's clothes. He donned the bowler and umbrella.

"How's this?" he asked.

"You look just like Steed," Leov commented. "Except you're still alive."

Pehlovich nodded. "Prepare to take Steed's body to the hotel. I'll write a suicide note about how he couldn't stand to go on living once he learned that his Emma had betrayed him and was going back behind the Iron Curtain." He watched through the one-way glass as a group of guards tried to subdue Emma. They had finally resorted to menacing her with the electric prod.

"Have my wife taken to a cell," The Ladja ordered. "I will charge to her rescue and sweep her away in my arms. We'll be on a flight to Moscow by morning."

-oOo-

Emma felt cool air over her skin as she was prodded along in her underwear, shackles around her ankles. Her hands were free, but she had seen the effect that the electric stunning device could have, should she think about resisting. She was numb with the thought of Steed's death. How could she carry on? Of course, she always had Knight Industries to run; but now the Ministry would be convinced she was working for the KGB. Without Steed to explain things, her life would become an endless challenge of eluding government agents. Actually, that sounded rather glamorous compared to the fate that undoubtedly awaited her.

The Ladja and Leov would now have her taken to a hotel room with Steed's dead body. They would use a gun covered with Steed's fingerprints to shoot her, framing him for her murder. Then they would take his asphyxiated corpse and hang it from the showerhead, making it look like he had taken his own life. LOVE AFFAIR WITH KGB AGENT ENDS IN MURDER-SUICIDE, the papers would read—except that the Ministry would see to it that it never made the papers, that the whole thing was hushed up. They couldn't afford the scandal of the Ministry's top troubleshooter having an illicit affair with a KGB agent, to whom he was most assuredly giving away state secrets.

Emma set her mouth into a firm line of grim determination. She must escape, if for no other reason than to protect Steed's honor. From the corner of her eye she assessed the man who was herding her with the electric prod. It was the same guard that she and Steed had disabled earlier. He didn't look particularly happy about her previous attack; that was too bad, because she had no intention of letting The Ladja's plan come to fruition.

She whirled suddenly and leaped forward, launching herself into a close-legged butterfly kick that impacted the side of his head, the taut chain from her shackles smacking him across the temple. Emma had expected him to be unconscious before he hit the floor, but the only effect of her attack was to cause him to drop the electric prod.

Still, taking encouragement from having disarmed her opponent so quickly, she tried to capitalize on the element of surprise, cracking an open-handed slap across his face. The wild, feral look in her eyes must have startled him; the guard couldn't even think of retaliation, only fear. Instinctively he raised his hands to protect his face, leaving his lower body undefended.

It was a shame that the shackles kept her from moving her ankles more than a half-meter apart; her instep was itching to deliver one of a dozen possible kicks. Instead, Emma jumped again with her legs close together, slamming the soles of her bare feet into the pit of his stomach to pitch him backward against the wall.

The guard recovered immediately and lunged forward to wrap his hands around her neck. _Why doesn't he stay down?_ Emma thought. She bent forward to try to break the stranglehold, using her hands to claw at his powerful biceps. It was like trying to bend steel.

The choking pressure was starting to weaken her, but the guard had mistakenly left her arms free with sufficient room to throw a punch. Emma regretted having to unman him twice in one day, but she had no alternative. Quickly interlacing her hands into a fist, she swung upwards between his legs as hard as she could.

The guard didn't flinch as the blow made contact, and for a moment Emma worried that she had either missed the mark or not swung hard enough. Then he released her neck with a sudden gasp and his knees buckled. _Delayed effect,_ she thought. _Takes a while for the nerve signals to reach the brain._

The man slumped dazedly back against the wall. Emma fired a solid jab to his solar plexus just to be sure that she had curbed his violent tendencies; then she reached forward and grabbed the hem of his turtleneck sweater, neatly stripping it off over his head as he sank to the floor.

"Thank you," she said smugly as she put on the sweater and rolled up the sleeves. "I've been wearing this more than you today, anyway." The keys to her shackles were on a ring hanging from his belt loop; she relieved her stunned captor of these as well and quickly freed her ankles. He was too feeble to resist as he rolled over on his side with a groan. Emma mischievously patted his rear.

"There, there," she said sympathetically. "You'll be walking again in ten minutes."

More than enough time for her to escape.

-oOo-

Emma held the electric prod at the ready as she moved quickly through the warehouse, making her way back towards the location where Leov had ambushed her. Perhaps she could track her quarry from there. She didn't know how many charges the battery pack held, but the weapon could come in handy if she encountered any armed guards. If only such a device could be made portable, small enough to fit in a handbag...

She wound her way through the maze of pipes and cement. Shortly before she came to the finished portion of the plant, Emma passed the utility room where she and Steed had been imprisoned together. A strange premonition came over her, as if a psychic bond had tugged at her mind. She stopped and peered into the workroom.

Under the harsh glare of the fluorescent light, Emma saw Steed's corpse lying in repose. Her leathers were neatly folded in a pile on a table next to him. She would need those; she couldn't very well run along the wharf on the Thames wearing only her underwear and a sweater.

Her heart felt frozen in her chest as she solemnly walked into the room, stripping the sweater off over her head as she made her way to the table. From the corner of her eye, Steed's body seemed to beckon to her in its stillness. Emma tried not to stare directly at it; the sorrow would have swept away her reason. How unfair that such a great man should have such an undignified end. She sighed; she couldn't possibly take his body with her, as much as it pained her to leave it behind.

It was vital that she escape Canary Roe quickly, but she couldn't go just yet. Emma found she was drawn to her partner like a lodestone. She finally forced herself to look at Steed as he lay there in his boxers—immobile, stoic, peaceful. Almost as if he could just sit up and start talking. He was entitled to a shroud, at least; but there was nothing in the room that would be suitable.

Emma put her hand against his bare chest. No heartbeat; he was completely still. The corpse was warmer than she had expected. She was suddenly overwhelmed with the sense of loss. Steed's wild adventures had formed the framework for her life since Peter's death. What would she do now?

She set her mouth into a firm line. She would not let The Ladja's plan succeed. A tear trickled from the corner of one of her eyes.

"Dear Steed," she said in a determined voice barely louder than a whisper, "I won't let them hurt you any more." Emma leaned over and planted a single, final, tender kiss on his lips.

Her heart stopped beating as she felt a twitch beneath her.

"I must be in heaven," Steed said suddenly. "And Saint Peter sent an angel to greet me."

Emma was trembling—first in fear, then shock, then excitement. She started pummeling his chest with her fists.

"What did you think you were doing?"

"Feigning death," he said matter-of-factly. "I take it that Mistress Leov and The Ladja were convinced?"

"You're lucky they didn't try to cremate you on the spot," she scolded in relief. "Or that I don't try right now. What caused you to revive? Was it timed?"

"Like a fairy-tale princess, I can only be awakened with a kiss," Steed grinned. "Was it from you, Mrs. Peel?"

A grin tugged at the corner of Emma's mouth. "I was just wiping your lips with my kerchief, tidying up your corpse."

"I don't see any kerchief," Steed said innocently, swinging his legs down off the table to stand before her.

Emma didn't answer; she just threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into an embrace. Steed gave her waist a gentle squeeze. She could feel his warm body through the thin fabric of her lingerie. She tilted her head up to his and planted a solemn kiss on his lips. Steed simply looked at her in fascination. Emma gave him a mischievous smile.

"Don't get any ideas," she teased. "I'm just making sure you're completely revived. We may have to fight our way out of here."

"You have me fully stimulated, Mrs. Peel," he declared wryly.

She suddenly look perplexed. "How could you live without oxygen?"

"I couldn't—not entirely. That's why I had to feign death as quickly as possible, so they would remove me from the chamber," Steed explained. "I assume this was all The Ladja's doing?"

"All I heard was a voice on the loudspeaker," she replied. "I assume it was his. It sounded familiar, somehow." Emma looked into Steed's eyes, saw a fire there.

He said evenly, "I'm ready for a showdown with The Ladja. He spends entirely too much time trying to kill me for my taste."

Emma nodded in silent agreement as she retrieved her leathers and boots from the table. Without a word, without taking her eyes off Steed, she stepped into the catsuit, put her arms through the sleeves, and zipped it up to her neck.

She strode confidently from the room with Steed two steps behind. He gave her plenty of room and respect, as one would a loaded weapon.

-oOo-


	8. Caviar And Railcars

**Chapter 8**

The service corridor at the caviar-packing plant, Canary Roe, was unwatched. That was just as well, because any observer would have raised an immediate alarm at the sight of the two figures sneaking down the hallway. Emma was moving stealthily on the tips of her toes, fully dressed in her leathers and boots; and behind her was the freshly-resurrected Steed, walking with a slow and dignified gait, barefoot in his boxers and a turtleneck sweater. He carried the long electric prod crosswise on his chest.

They came to the double doors leading to the finished section of the factory. Emma eased one of them open with her foot, then poked her head through the opening. The area was empty. She turned to Steed and grinned at his appearance.

"I thought you never carry weapons," she said.

"Even if I had no intention of using this, I'd bring it along so that I'm not on the _receiving_ end again," Steed remarked wryly. "Twice is enough for one lifetime."

"But you're on your second life now," she teased. Emma moved down the carpeted hall until she came to a richly-furnished office. One entire wall consisted of a window that overlooked the main plant floor. Steed pulled up beside her.

"This must be The Ladja's personal control room," he announced.

Emma nodded. "But where is our diabolical mastermind?" She gave the office a cursory search. Her face lit up when she spied a pile next to the desk.

"I have a present for you, Steed." She smiled as she handed him his shirt, coat, trousers, socks, and shoes. He solemnly took the articles and gave her a wounded look.

"No hat or brolly?" he asked.

"Sorry," she offered. "That's all there is." Emma faced away while he dressed because it was the proper thing to do, in spite of the fact that he had been reduced to his underwear in her presence for the past several hours.

After a minute, Steed tapped her shoulder and she turned back around. He was once again his dapper self, though minus his trademark accessories. Emma moved closer and fastidiously straightened his tie.

"You don't look half bad for a dead man," she mused.

Steed smiled. "I'll have to thank my guru."

-oOo-

The guard staggered groggily down the hallway, hunched over as he fought the nausea in his lower abdomen. He approached a well-dressed man with ice-blue eyes wearing a bowler; next to him was an auburn-haired woman clad in a tight leather bodice and slacks. As if the guard had found the walk too taxing, he collapsed to the floor at the woman's feet. She scowled at his weakness.

"Your men are not used to dealing with superior women," Mistress Leov smirked. "Particularly ones who know how to kick, and where."

"Idiots!" The Ladja hissed. "All I ask is for them to transport one woman to a cell."

The Mistress gave a shrug. "Let your wife go. We're well rid of her."

"Have you forgotten?" The Ladja countered. "She can provide evidence of Steed's innocence."

"Steed is dead," Leov declared. "Isn't that enough?"

"No. I want him dishonored. Like Profumo." The Ladja grabbed her forearm. "Don't forget, Emma can also provide evidence of your guilt in Steed's death."

Leov sighed in annoyance. "Very well. What do we do?"

"Have the workers block all of the exits and patrol the grounds. If my wife tries to escape, she is to be captured, not harmed."

Leov glanced contemptuously at the guard who was curled on the floor with both hands pressed to his groin.

"With your men," she announced, "that may not be as easy as it sounds."

-oOo-

Emma and Steed lurked behind a row of pipes on the main plant floor. Only one guard was pacing the entire area, easily eluded. Steed poked his head out, keeping the electric prod at the ready, and checked the access corridor.

"All gone," he observed. "But to where?"

"Probably out searching for me," Emma offered. "Blocking all the exits, since they're sure that's where I'm headed."

"Undoubtedly," Steed agreed. "After all, only a crazy person would head right back into the lion's den." He grinned. "Er—why _are_ we headed back into the lion's den?"

A smile tugged at the corner of Emma's mouth. "I want to cause some mayhem first."

Steed returned the smile. "You mean, in excess of your usual amount?"

"Precisely."

They started moving together across the floor in a series of overlapping runs, taking cover behind the stainless-steel vats. Eventually, they both made it to the gas-packaging station. Steed pressed against Emma's shoulder and indicated a heavy-duty electric motor with several hoses leading from it.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"One of the pumps that nearly did you in? Yes."

"I wonder if it works both ways," he mused.

"Oh?" Emma prompted.

"Suppose we were to uncouple the hoses, switch them, and connect it to that vat of caviar over there," Steed offered. "Instead of removing the air to gas-package it, it would pump in air from outside to pressurize it."

Emma's eyes lit up. "How much pressure do you think a vessel like that can take?"

"Before the pump gives out?" Steed grinned. "Let's find out, shall we?"

He found a nearby spanner and reconnected the hoses. Emma's sharp eyes spotted a pressure-relief valve on the side of the vat. She took the spanner from Steed and crimped the valve shut.

The motor was hardly audible amid the sounds of the other machinery as Steed switched it on. Within seconds, the access hatches on the vat were rattling against their hinges. The doors had simple gaskets, only designed to take an extra atmosphere or two of pressure.

"How long?" Emma asked.

Steed checked the pressure gauge on the pump. "Maybe three minutes."

She nodded. "While that's bound to coat everything on the main floor with fish eggs, I'd like to do some more permanent damage." She pressed her cheek next to Steed's. "Where does this caviar come from?"

"They probably ship in sturgeons from the Baltic Sea, stored at minus twenty centigrade," he offered. "After thawing, the eggs can be harvested fresh and sent to the tickle the palates of bluebloods all across the United Kingdom."

"The bluebloods will have to look elsewhere next week," she smirked. "It must take a lot of refrigeration to keep things that cold. They'd need power—maybe too much to be wired in. I'm willing to bet there's a diesel generator around here somewhere. That means fuel."

"Could take a while to search for it," Steed countered.

Emma pointed to a central terminus of conduits that had a row of circuit breakers along the front. "If we short out that main junction box, it could easily cause a fire that might reach the fuel."

"I wouldn't want to be near when that happens," he said. "Philo Jupiter's lightning generator would look tame by comparison."

Emma grinned as she held out her arms expectantly. Steed looked confused for a moment, then grinned back. He handed her the electric prod.

She used her toe to pull a wheeled cart over, careful not to alert the guard. Then she set the prod on the cart and turned the dial up to full. It hummed like a hornet's nest as she wheeled it near the open junction box, less than an inch from contact.

"When the vat goes," she explained, "it will push the end of that thing into the breaker panel, shorting out something—maybe everything. It should cause a variety of electrical fires." She checked the gauge on the pump; the pressure in the vat was increasing sharply. There was no longer any need for secrecy.

"Let's go!" Emma shouted.

She sprang from cover and ran for the side door with Steed trotting quickly behind. The guard tried to block their exit, but Emma launched into a spin kick that sent him reeling to the floor. Then she grabbed the man by the collar and dragged him out through the door, Steed assisting her with the feet.

"What's a safe distance?" Emma called back as they ran across the macadam lot.

"Brighton?" Steed offered. They reached the edge of the parking area and stopped, turning to look at the building just as a loud boom sounded.

Emma snickered impolitely as all of the windows went opaque, covered with a blackish substance that was slowly oozing down the panes. Then a second noise reached their ears: a massive explosion that rocked the ground. A hole opened up in the roof of the factory, and sparks and flames shot out into the clear London night.

Steed slipped his arm around Emma's waist as she leaned back against him to watch the fireworks. She covered his hand with hers.

"Most satisfactory," she declared smugly.

-oOo-

The boom echoed through the corridors of Canary Roe. Leov's eyes widened.

"What was that?" she shouted over the sudden din.

The Ladja started to head back for the main factory floor, then retreated when the fire alarms went off.

"Emma," he said with certainty.

"That one scrawny woman, did all this?"

Pehlovich narrowed his eyes. "Hanging around with Steed these past months seems to have unlocked some latent power within her." He took Mistress Leov by the arm.

"Time to execute our own escape plan."

-oOo-

"So much for Canary Roe," Emma sighed with satisfaction. "Can you spot any fleeing fish?"

The doors to the factory had been thrown open and workers were flooding out into the nearby field. Emma noticed the guard she had defeated earlier, still in his undershirt; he hadn't managed to reconnect with his turtleneck. There was no sign of another woman dressed in leather like herself, or anyone wearing a mask with a chessboard design.

Steed suddenly became alarmed as he watched the building burn. Mrs. Peel's mayhem was looking more and more like it might result in the total destruction of the plant—including the Zagadka inside.

"I have to go back in," he announced.

"What?" Emma shouted, tugging on his waist to hold him back. "Are you crazy?"

Steed shook his head. "I can't return without that decoder machine, even if it means my life."

"Why?"

"I'll explain later," he said.

Emma smirked. She had no intention of allowing Steed to return to the inferno; she steadfastly maintained her grip on his waist. If necessary, she could quickly slip her arm around his neck and administer a sleeper hold.

The sounds of muffled explosions within the building almost obscured a low, thunderous rumble that was growing from the dock area near the Thames. Steed and Emma turned at the same time towards the railway tracks that paralleled the river. A diesel locomotive, a large British-Thompson Houston engine, was starting to gather speed as it pulled away from the doomed plant.

The figure running the engine was too far away to be discernible, but the woman hopping onto the brake van at the end of the train was easily identified: a buxom woman clad in black leather, carrying a small case. Steed's eyes lit up at the sight of the decoder. Emma's body tensed up in her leathers.

"There they are!" she shouted. "They're getting away!" Emma had a look of grim determination as she took off at a dead run to intercept the moving train. Steed was caught flat-footed and couldn't keep up.

"Mrs. Peel!" he called after her.

"The devil take the hindmost!" she shouted back to him.

He watched as she made a prodigious leap into the open door of a boxcar in the middle of the train. Steed had resigned himself to being abandoned when her hand came out of the opening, grasped his wrist, and heaved him bodily up into the van. Emma fell over backward and he landed sprawled on top of her. They lay together for a moment as they tried to catch their breath.

"I'm not your cushion," Emma panted as she wriggled beneath him.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said in feigned apology. "I thought you were going to leave me behind."

She gave his waist an affectionate squeeze. "Never," she said. "I'll need someone to help me tie up these two after I've finished with them." Emma took the hand that he offered as they stood up together and went over to look out through the open door. Across the Thames they could see the lights of Woolwich.

"Where do you think this line leads?" she asked.

"Perhaps not far," Steed observed. "I'm afraid this one might have gotten the Beeching Axe. Maybe we should wait until we reach our destination?"

Emma eyed the ladder leading up the exterior surface of the car. "And have them escape by jumping off en route? Not on your life." She swung out onto the ladder and started climbing to the roof of the van. Steed followed with the wind whipping at his clothes. They reached the top and crouched together on the galvanized steel roof.

"Ride the new British Rail," Steed said jovially.

Emma was studying the nearby cars. "I think we can travel along the tops of these vans."

Steed nodded. "I'll take the front, you take the back," he suggested. "We'll meet back here in the middle."

Emma started to protest. Surely, The Ladja was the man running the engine, and she desperately wanted another shot at her nemesis. But Steed would be hesitant to fight Mistress Leov with the intensity needed to defeat her, and since he had just been murdered by the diabolical mastermind, he technically had the stronger claim. She reluctantly nodded agreement.

"Take your time," Emma replied breezily. "When I'm finished with the Mistress, I'll come forward to join you. Make sure you save some of The Ladja for me."

-oOo-


	9. The Mirror Image

**Chapter 9**

In less than a minute, Steed had duckwalked across the roofs of three boxcars as he headed toward the front of the train. A flatcar was connected directly behind the large BTH engine, making it virtually impossible to sneak up unobserved. The driver merely had to turn his head to one side or the other and he would spot any intruders from the corner of his eye.

The train was now moving at better than forty miles per hour and still accelerating. The lights of Silvertown loomed ahead, glistening stars amid the scrub growth that lined the tracks. The locomotive cab was shrouded in black, but Steed could make out a dim shape in the darkness; it was the silhouette of the man at the controls. He was wearing a bowler hat and had an umbrella draped over his forearm. Steed instinctively patted his own chest to make sure that he wasn't the one running the engine.

The rail line was passing another factory, and the points had temporarily shunted the train onto a siding. The driver's attention was focused on adjusting the speed through the loop, and Steed took advantage by sprinting silently across the surface of the flat wagon, crouching to hide just behind the cab.

Steed quickly peeked through the window. Even in the blackness, he could see that the man wore no mask. Could this really be the double agent he had been chasing for the past six months, The Ladja?

The train swung through the second set of points back onto the main line, lurching with the speed. Steed lost his balance and slipped on the steel floor of the flatcar, the side of his shoe brushing against a tie-down chain. The driver whirled at the clanking noise.

"Who's there?" The Ladja's familiar voice barked gruffly.

Seizing the initiative, Steed sprang into the cab and flung open the door of the closest access panel. It smacked The Ladja in the side of the head, knocking him away from the controls and through the open door on the opposite side. The villain hung suspended for a moment, precariously balanced above the tracks hurtling beneath him; then he managed to swing back onto the flatcar. A stray beam of light from one of the outer markers briefly illuminated Steed inside the cab. The Ladja's face turned ashen, a man who had seen a ghost.

"Steed!" he gasped. "But how?"

Steed retrieved his umbrella and bowler from the floor of the cab and donned them as he stepped debonairly onto the surface of the flatcar. "Like a cat, I have several lives left."

The Ladja abruptly lunged for the side of the car. He tore open the lid of a toolbox in the floor and hefted out an eight-kilo railway sledge.

"Why won't you _die?_" he shouted as he swung the hammer in a careening arc.

Steed barely managed to dodge the attack by diving across the slippery steel surface, landing at the very rear of the flatcar. His umbrella went skittering away as he scrambled back to his feet. The Ladja was rooting through the toolbox again; he produced a large spanner. He hurled it expertly across the dozen feet that separated the fighters.

An explosion of pain shot through Steed's right thigh as the wrench struck a glancing blow before skating off the edge of the car. He sank to one knee, desperately wishing he had managed to snag the weapon before it had flown over the side.

Suddenly, The Ladja loomed above him, the heavy sledge raised over his shoulders, ready to strike the deathblow. Steed sprawled backwards onto the floor of the car, hoping to roll away from the killing stroke. A passing marker illuminated the face of his foe for a brief instant. Surely, it must have been a trick of the light.

Steed was stunned to see his own features reflected back at him.

-oOo-

Emma was in a hurry as she crossed a boxcar, shimmied down its ladder onto a flat wagon, sprinted across its surface, then climbed to the top of the next boxcar. She wanted to be at Steed's side when he faced The Ladja. There would be no time for pussy-footing with Mistress Leov; Emma's attack plan was to find a long-handled implement somewhere in the brake van and use it to neutralize the whip and the shoes of her opponent. Deprived of her poisons, Leov would be easy to subdue, unless she had some special fighting skills that Emma hadn't seen yet.

She crossed the roof of the final boxcar and perched on its edge. Leov was somewhere in the car below, in the crew quarters of the brake van, the caboose. It was entirely possible that she hadn't seen the two intruders board the train, and Emma would have the element of surprise.

Emma silently approached the front end of the van and prepared to kick the door open. She would have to carefully guard her face and hands; they were the only exposed areas of flesh through which Mistress Leov's weapons could administer their drugs. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself against the railing and slammed her boot into the middle of the door. It nearly broke loose from its hinges as it crashed inward. Emma could see all the way to the door at the other end.

The brake van was empty.

Emma cautiously moved down the center aisle, checking the crew bunks on either side; but there really wasn't sufficient space for a buxom woman like Leov to hide anywhere.

The patter of footsteps sounded on the roof. Emma cursed as she whirled and ran back to the front of the van. She saw Leov drop down and pull the door shut, then heard a metallic scraping. Emma tugged on the door handle with all her might, but it wouldn't budge; the Mistress had somehow jammed the mechanism from the outside.

Emma furrowed her brow in suspicion and sprinted to the back of the brake van. The rear door was jammed as well. Like the door on the front, it opened inward, so as not to send anyone on the outside railing plunging off the train; unfortunately, that meant Emma couldn't use her weight to force it, or gain any leverage.

She was trapped. Emma urgently started searching for a tool to free herself, but all of the storage compartments in the caboose were padlocked. She picked up the heaviest object she could find, an electric lantern, and started hammering against the lock on the rear door.

Emma growled in frustration. Mistress Leov's strategy was now obvious. She was going to head to the front of the train and join her lover. Together, they would gang up and eliminate Steed, two against one, then come back for her.

-oOo-

Steed scooted back along the steel surface of the flatcar, but his injured thigh had reduced his mobility. He lay there defenseless, his fingers groping along the floor. He experienced a brief surge of hope as they closed around the handle of his umbrella. It couldn't possibly fend off the massive sledge; his only chance was to use the sword inside.

He raised himself to a knee as he pulled on the handle of the umbrella. Nothing happened. He tugged harder as The Ladja repositioned himself for the kill. The sheath was jammed. The sword would not come free.

The Ladja grinned as he wielded the rail hammer. "You can't use your blade!" he shouted triumphantly. "Now, Steed—die!"

Steed's vision tunneled as the outline of the sledge started to move forward against the lights of the factory. Over the Ladja's shoulders, a large metal storage tank was coming into view as the diesel engine passed beneath it. The picture painted on the white surface was other-worldly in its strangeness—a lion surrounded by bees. Steed could see words encircling it: LEO & BUZZER'S GOLDEN SYRUP.

A red indicator light on the funnel controls glowed just enough for Steed to make out a green button. With all his remaining strength, he hurled his umbrella like a javelin.

The Ladja laughed as he saw the umbrella fly over his head, thinking Steed's aim was off. There was the loud clunk of an electric valve servo as the tip of the umbrella hit the button, causing the light to change from red to green.

Steed rolled onto one side and covered his head as a solid wall of treacle burst forth from the spout. The Ladja screamed as the thick liquid rammed into the back of his head, knocking the sledge away as if it had been a matchstick. At this speed, the torrent was an irresistible force, dragging the two men across the surface of the car. Steed grasped one of the floor chains and held on for dear life, watching helplessly as The Ladja was swept over the side in a tide of golden syrup.

Dragging himself to his feet and maintaining a death grip on the chain, Steed staggered to the edge of the flat wagon, craning his head to determine what happened to his foe, but there was no sign of The Ladja anywhere. The spout continued to flow forth amber treacle, painting a stripe down the roofs of the boxcars as the train hurtled past the sugar refinery.

Steed knew he had to stop the train; it could crash through the buffers at any moment. He limped across the sticky surface of the flatcar towards the cab. Once inside, he shut off the throttle and engaged the brake. The diesel engine whined down to idle speed as the train slowed to a stop.

He exhaled sharply as he removed his soaked jacket; the shirt and tie were dry underneath. His right pant leg felt wet; luckily, it was golden syrup, not blood. He would probably escape with nothing worse than a bad bruise. Still, he favored his right leg as he moved quickly across the surface of the flatcar, heading for the rear of the train—and Emma.

Fortunately, he didn't have to cross the top of the train in his injured state; instead, he stepped onto the gravel ballast next to the rails and limped alongside. Steed looked at the distant tracks behind them, but judging from the train's speed and stopping time, The Ladja's body would be a good mile away. Normally, being thrown from a train at forty miles per hour could result in serious injury or death; but the viscous syrup might have cushioned the villain's fall.

Two cars ahead of the brake van, another flat wagon was nestled between two boxcars. Steed halted in the dim light as he spied an object in the center of the floor. He jumped onto the flatcar and approached it. It was a small leather case: the Zagadka decoder.

The sound of a single footfall came from the end of the car. Steed saw the silhouette of a leather-clad woman framed against the darkness.

"Mrs. Peel?" he called out hopefully.

"Right outfit," a sinister female voice answered. "Wrong woman."

Steed felt an icy chill pass over his body. If Leov was here, that meant that Mrs. Peel had failed in her battle. Perhaps she had been tossed from the train—or worse. He could scarcely believe what he was seeing.

Emma must be dead.

Steed tried to fight back the mind-numbing sorrow. Then he panicked as he realized it was threatening to induce his death-feigning coma. That was the trigger he had chosen—life without Emma. Leov wouldn't be fooled a second time around. She would recognize his faux heart failure and kill him while he was motionless and vulnerable.

He forced himself to concentrate. What was it Mrs. Peel had said about the whip? Something about it being envenomed with a paralyzing agent that the Mistress used to immobilize her opponents. Even if he could fight off the coma, she could still render him helpless with a single stroke. Then she would kill him with the poison spikes on her shoes. Steed's eyes darted around the empty flatcar, searching for a weapon. He could have used his umbrella as a shield; but it was a mile away, under a lake of golden syrup.

Suddenly, death felt very, very close.

Mistress Leov approached him slowly, her heels clicking like a metronome as she closed the distance between them. Steed knew that with his injured thigh, it would be impossible to dodge her attack. Already, she had thrown her arm back over her head, the whip uncoiling behind her like a viper, ready to strike. It would take a mere instant for her to snap it forward, and his clothing wouldn't be sufficient to prevent the lightning lash from breaking his skin.

Her arm seemed to be frozen on the backswing. The Mistress tugged forcefully; the whip had caught on something. Steed held his breath, waiting for a paralyzing slash that never came.

A second figure stepped forth from the shadows. The end of the whip was wrapped in loops around her leather-clad forearm. Careful not to touch the whip with her hand, she brought her arm around with a vicious yank. The whip handle flew from Mistress Leov's grasp and clattered harmlessly away to the surface of the flatcar. The second woman lowered her arm and let the coils slide off to the floor. Her eyes were ablaze.

"If you want to hurt him," Emma said evenly, "you'll have to go through me."

-oOo-


	10. A Sweet Ending?

**Chapter 10**

In the dim light cast by the glow of the distant factories, Steed watched as the two women, both dressed in leather, squared off in combat. He had dragged the case containing the Zagadka decoder from the center of the flatcar, anticipating that Mrs. Peel would want an uncluttered arena to maneuver in. Watching her as she faced off against her opposite, he remembered seeing his own features briefly reflected back at him as he fought The Ladja. It was as if they both had been forced to do battle with their evil doppelgangers this night.

Steed was ready to assist Mrs. Peel in her struggle, but with his injured thigh, he thought he might prove more of a hindrance than a help. He decided to stand clear and wait for an opportune moment to jump in.

Emma was in top form as she opened with spinning crescent kick, the side of her foot impacting Leov's head. The Mistress immediately fell to the steel surface of the flatcar, but it turned out to be a ruse; as Emma closed in to leap on her back, Leov lashed out with her poison heels. Steed wasn't sure whether Mrs. Peel's leather catsuit would be sufficient protection against the stiletto boots.

Emma danced backwards as Leov sprang like a panther. The two rolled over the floor in Steed's direction; he debated running back to the front of the train to search the toolbox for a weapon. There was no sense in Mrs. Peel risking her life in a hand-to-hand battle if he could end it more quickly.

Leov grabbed Emma's wrist and forced it downward, raising her stiletto heel so that the spike was only inches away.

"Mrs. Peel!" Steed cried. "The poison!"

Emma pulled her hand back just in time as Leov stomped down with her boot. The Mistress tried to lift her foot for a second strike, but the heel was caught in a sticky substance on the flatcar. Steed smiled; it was Leo & Buzzer's Golden Syrup.

Using a scissors kick to send Leov back to the floor, Emma regained her feet and straddled Leov's back. Steed breathed a sigh of relief to see her in control; then suddenly, Leov flipped over and tossed Emma away.

Before her opponent could rise, Mistress Leov had swooped in, trapping Emma's neck between her thighs in a vise of leather. Steed's eyes widened in alarm as he saw Mrs. Peel clawing for release. She might have only a few seconds of consciousness left. He suddenly remembered he still had his bowler. With a single motion, he whipped it from his head and hurled it at Leov's face.

The distraction proved to be just enough. The Mistress lost her balance, and Emma snaked her hands in between Leov's ankles. Summoning all her remaining upper-body strength, Emma levered her wrists outwards. Leov's feet flew wide apart, releasing Emma's neck from strangulation. Instead of scampering away, Emma bucked forcefully upward, butting the back of her head into her adversary's abdomen. Mistress Leov doubled over with a grunt.

Emma grabbed both of the woman's ankles and pulled, pitching Leov forward, flat onto her face. Quickly jumping astride the Russian's back and facing rearward, Emma grabbed Leov's legs under her armpits and pulled. The crab hold painfully stretched Leov's quadriceps, but more importantly, it allowed Emma to remove the stiletto-heeled boots from her opponent's ankles. She stripped them off one at a time and tossed them over the side of the flatcar.

Steed waited as they landed next to him, gathering the boots to use as a weapon of last resort. Emma flashed him a brief smile, and he knew that he wouldn't be needing them. Now that Mistress Leov had been defanged, he was confident that Mrs. Peel would be victorious.

Mistress Leov's whole lower body had been lifted from the surface of the flatcar by the crab hold, and the only purchase she could gain was to use her hands against the floor. Straining her biceps and forearms, she lunged and managed to twist sideways, throwing Emma from her perch. Leov immediately jumped to her feet, but Emma's stretch move had done its work; she teetered unsteadily as she tried to stand, undoubtedly from the burning pain in her thighs, and she was unable to launch any kicks.

Leov became a wild animal, lurching forward and biting at Emma's shoulder. The leather was just thick enough to prevent her teeth from penetrating, and Emma remained composed as she threw a rising punch, aiming at a spot just beneath and between the pendulous breasts. Her fist connected solidly with the Russian's solar plexus, and Mistress Leov backed off with a gasp. Emma closed in and grabbed Leov's thick, braided ponytail and tugged her head downward, at the same time slamming a knee into the pit of her stomach.

It was over. Emma dropped into a crouch and executed a foot sweep to send Leov to the floor; then she crawled over to the prone Mistress and used her forearm to administer a sleeper hold, maintaining it until she was sure that the killer was unconscious.

Emma remained seated on Leov's back for a minute, panting heavily from the exertion of the fight. Then she rose and approached Steed.

"I'm not her," Emma said, as much to herself as to him.

"No, Mrs. Peel," Steed said with a cryptic smile. He leaned in and brushed a strand of auburn hair from her face. "I know exactly who you are."

"Thanks for not interfering," she continued. "This was something I had to work out on my own."

"Interfere?" Steed said jovially. "You two were going at it like wolves. If I had stepped in, I would have been torn to shreds."

Emma bent over with her hands on her knees and caught her breath. "I'm just getting warmed up," she offered cheerily. "I don't suppose you've seen The Ladja anywhere?"

Steed smiled. "He got swept away by a tide of Leo and Buzzer's."

Emma suddenly recognized the sticky stripe down the middle of the flatcar. "The golden syrup?"

Steed nodded. "Perhaps it will sweeten his disposition."

"He fell off the train?" she asked.

"Like Moriarty over the Falls, but it might not have been fatal."

"And you didn't follow him?"

Steed grinned. "It came as a surprise. The train was going rather fast. Are you chastising me for my failure?"

Emma wrinkled her mouth. "No," she relented. "It's just that I was looking forward to capturing him personally."

"He seems to have an attraction to you and I," Steed commented.

"Probably because we've sunk his plans so many times."

"Yes; I'm sure that's it."

Emma smiled distantly. "At the risk of sounding like Mistress Leov, I would take special pleasure in hog-tying him."

"Speaking of which, I've been ordered to take you to the Ministry, bound and trussed up like a Christmas goose," Steed said cheerfully.

Emma arched an eyebrow and defiantly planted her feet apart. "Do you think you would be sufficient to the task?" she said evenly.

Steed grinned. "Alternatively, if I found you were truly KGB, I was instructed to kill you."

Emma snorted. "Those ungrateful wretches! It's fortunate that my opinion of them is already so low that their judgments mean nothing to me. Still, I hope you can dissuade them from sending anyone in pursuit. I'd hate for them to lose any good agents." She gave him a wicked smile. "Starting with you..."

"I know better than to do battle with you, Mrs. Peel," Steed smiled back. "I'll explain to the Ministry that you were engaged in an independent undercover operation against The Ladja. Now that we have the Zagadka, all will be forgiven." He offered his hand to help her off the flatcar onto the gravel ballast. Emma gave a hop down and landed in his arms. They walked together into the light from the nearby factory.

"Next time you plan to die, give me some warning," she said.

"I'm not sure I can pull the trick again," Steed answered wryly. "The whole thing hinges on a trigger thought, a scenario which enables one to embrace death."

"What was yours?" she smirked. "Life without champagne?"

Steed wore a serious expression. "Life without you."

Emma reddened at the sudden revelation.

"Ha! Got a blush out of you," Steed teased. He gestured back toward the diesel locomotive. "We need to see if there's a way to reverse this engine. Something important is waiting for us back there under several hundred gallons of Leo and Buzzer's."

Emma nodded and set her mouth in determination. "The Ladja," she affirmed.

"No, my brolly," Steed grinned. "A gift from my great-aunt."

-oOo-

Steed carefully studied the layout of the pieces on the black-and-white checked board. Mrs. Peel played chess the same way she fenced, the same way she fought. Placid and cool on the exterior, but hiding an aggression that could be disconcerting once you found yourself on the floor with her foot on your neck. She looked at him with a wry smirk and brushed a strand of auburn hair from her face.

"Your bishop is exposed," she said.

Steed's eyes widened. "I beg your pardon?"

"Just trying to help. You seemed lost for a moment."

"The bishop is an important part of my strategy," he said with a wounded expression.

Emma nodded seriously. "I'll never be able to play chess again without thinking about _him._"

Steed looked puzzled. "My bishop?"

"No," she said evenly. "The Ladja. I'm sure I haven't seen the last of him."

"No ordinary man could have survived a fall from a train going that speed," Steed remarked.

"He's no ordinary man," she countered. "His body was never found."

"The tracks were running close to the Thames at that point," Steed offered. "The body could have been swept right into the river. Probably turn up on some distant shore."

"How would we know? Who can identify him?"

"Marina, in Swansea," Steed replied. "Also, I saw his face, briefly."

Emma snorted. "I'm not sure your eyewitness account is any too reliable. Didn't you say he looked like you?"

"A bit." Steed moved his bishop at last. "Check."

Emma moved her black rook. "It's a pleasure to sacrifice you."

"Me?"

"No. I was talking to my rook."

"Why do you always let me play white, Mrs. Peel?" He advanced his queen to take her rook.

"To give you the advantage of the first move. It doesn't seem to help," she teased. With the white queen out of the way, Emma easily cornered Steed's king. "Checkmate," she said smugly.

Steed winced as he studied the board for a moment. Emma went to the liquor cart and refilled her wine glass, then Steed's. She carried them over and curled up next to him on the couch.

"Would you really die without me?"

"My guru has seen to that," Steed declared. "Of course, I could always have her reverse the procedure."

Emma's eyes flashed. "Her? Your guru is a woman?"

Steed smiled and gazed in the distance. "Lovely Narayana from Bombay. Did I mention she was flexible?"

"Ah," Emma parried, "but can she do this?" She scooted over so they were cheek-to-cheek, then skillfully interlaced her arm through his in a lover's knot as they lifted their glasses together. Then she pressed her glass to her lips and drank without spilling a drop.

Steed looked deep into her eyes and sipped his own wine.

"You're the only woman I want doing that, Mrs. Peel."

-oOo-


End file.
